Stray

Over the centuries, our boundary lines shifted slightly along with the evolving landscape, but they remain much as they were originally. Those lines are the basis for the fragile structure which keeps us civilized. To preserve that civilization, Daddy would not breach a territorial boundary line without permission for anything, even a missing daughter.

I turned back to my father, preparing to state my case. “If there’s nothing we can do, let me go back to school. The term just started.”

His frown was impenetrable. “You’re not going back until we’re sure you’re safe.”

“I am safe,” I said through clenched jaws, praying Marc hadn’t already told him about the stray on campus. Yes, my father would find out eventually; there was no stopping that. But hopefully he wouldn’t find out until I was back on campus and out of the direct line of fire.

“Sean took her,” I continued. “He’s mad because she accepted Kyle’s proposal, and he’s either trying to change her mind, or get back at her.” Like most tabbies, Sara’d had several suitors to choose from when her parents decided it was time for her to marry. Unfortunately, one of those she turned down hadn’t taken the news very well. Sean had thrown an embarrassing public fit, then left the territory in protest. “It’s horrible, and scary, and infuriating. But it has nothing to do with me.”

I was starting to panic at the idea of sitting home all summer with nothing to occupy my time but chaperoned runs into town for groceries. If I was lucky. I’d been free far too long to ever go back to the way things used to be.

“Faythe, give it a rest,” Marc said. Everyone turned to look at him, including me. I stared at him, begging him with my eyes to keep his mouth shut. As usual, he ignored me. “You know it wasn’t Sean.”

“How would she know that?” My father’s voice was deep with anger. He clearly realized he’d been kept out of the loop.

I watched Marc, still pleading with him silently to keep his mouth shut. Just this once. Daddy would never let me out of his sight if he knew.

Marc gave me the slightest shake of his head. “A stray tried to grab her on campus.”

“Yeah, but I kicked his trespassing ass!” I whirled around to face my father.

“Faythe!” my mother cried, horrified more by my language than by what had actually happened.

“What? It’s true. Tell them, Marc,” I demanded, turning on him angrily. “I can take care of myself.”

Marc shrugged. And he conveniently forgot to mention where he was while I was kicking serious ass. I briefly considered ratting him out, as he’d done to me, but decided my secret might be worth more to him down the line.

“You’re not leaving,” Daddy said, completely unmoved by the news of my first victory in battle.

“The hell I’m not.” I clenched my hands together in my lap to keep them from curling into fists, which he would see as a sign of aggression. “I’m never alone anyway, so what does it matter? I know you have the guys watching me, even though you promised me privacy. I’m just not sure whether it’s to protect me or to spy on me.”

“Faythe, your tone is unacceptable.” My mother never raised her voice, because she never needed to. Until I came along, it had apparently never occurred to anyone to disobey. As children, my brothers were typically loud and raucous, managing to find trouble in the most benign places, but none of them ever thought to openly defy either of our parents. No, rebellion was my sole territory to explore, and I’d pushed the very limits of what would be endured.

“That’s old news, Mom.” Claustrophobia constricted my throat at the very thought of being confined to the ranch for an unknown period of time. “I’m old enough to vote, I’m old enough to drink, and I’m damn well old enough to make my own decisions. And I’ve decided to go back to school.”

My father nodded to Marc, who stepped in front of the door and leaned against it, both arms crossed over his chest. It would take a bulldozer to move him, and heavy machinery I was not. “Don’t make threats, Faythe,” Daddy said. “We’re only trying to protect you.”

One look at his face told me things were going downhill. Fast. If I couldn’t keep my cool, I’d wind up stuck in my room until I was thirty. “I’m not making threats, Daddy. I swear I’m not. But I truly don’t need your protection. I proved that tonight.”

My father sighed and met my eyes. “I know you think you can take care of yourself, and I think that with a little more training, you just may be right. If you’d like to take advantage of this opportunity to get in some more practice with the guys, I’m sure they’d all be happy to oblige. But you are not going back to school. At least not now.”

Furious at being patronized, I stood, and so did my father. He stared behind me at Marc and nodded again. They thought I was going to run and were prepared to stop me. Wonderful. “How long?” I asked, trying to keep defeat from my voice. It was too late for my face.

“Until they find Sara and whoever took her. You can speed up the process by giving us a description.”

“Get it from Marc,” I snapped, daring him to admit he’d barely seen the stray.

I took a step forward, and Michael stood, preparing to stop me. I rolled my eyes. “Relax, I’m just going to my room. Otherwise known as my prison cell.”

He glanced at my father. Daddy nodded, and Michael sat back down.

Spine stiff and chin high, I marched toward the guarded exit. Marc averted his eyes as he held the door for me, but I could feel his gaze on my back as I plodded down the hall.

In my room, I slammed the door and leaned against it, my eyes roaming walls I hadn’t seen in years. I crossed the floor in an instant, using speed I hadn’t had the nerve to display in front of my father. When I pressed the power button on my stereo, music blared to life through speakers Marc had mounted for me on my seventeenth birthday. My hand hovered over the volume knob as I considered turning it down. But then footsteps clomped down the hall outside my door. I turned the music up instead and flopped down on my stomach on the bed.

Welcome home, Faythe, I thought, eyeing the brand-new security bars on my window. For now.

Four

A soft scratching sound came from the hallway. I rolled onto my back, staring at the door. The scratching came again, and I sat up on the bed, sniffing the air. My nose works much better in cat form, but even on two legs I could identify each of my brothers’ scents.

“Go away, Ethan,” I yelled, not bothering to screen irritation from my voice. My misery didn’t want company.

The knob turned, as I’d known it would, and I leapt to my feet as the door swung open. A dark head appeared in the gap, and I found myself looking into eyes barely a shade greener than my own. “Damn it, Ethan!” I propped both hands on my hips, in unconscious imitation of my mother’s angry stance. “You can’t waltz in here anytime you want, just because my door doesn’t lock.” Daddy had snapped the lock the time I shut myself in and tried to sneak out the window. And he’d steadfastly refused to replace it.

“I didn’t waltz. And I’m not technically in.” Ethan leaned against the door frame, naked from the waist up, a half-eaten Granny Smith apple in one hand. He wore his typical lopsided grin, the one that said nothing in the world could ever really bother him. When we were kids, his inescapable optimism had frayed my nerves, but now I found myself welcoming that distinctive smile with one of my own. I couldn’t help it. His attitude was contagious.

“You still mad, or can I have a hug?” he asked. I shrugged. It wasn’t his fault Marc had dragged me home.

Ethan set his apple on my dresser, and before I could blink he’d enveloped me in his long arms, my cheek resting on a chest smooth enough to be mistaken for a boy’s, if not for an obviously mature physique. And it wasn’t just his chest. Ethan was two years older than I was, but you couldn’t tell it from his cherubic face, all dimples, wide eyes, and long, gorgeous lashes.

He squeezed just a bit too hard, to show me how much I’d been missed. Then he swung me in a complete circle as I squealed, taking me back to my childhood, when I’d spent every summer tagging along behind him and Jace, just in case they decided to let me play.

He set me gently on the floor, then plopped down on my bed and leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. The pose was familiar enough to send a pang of nostalgia ringing through me. As children, we’d spent hours sprawled across my bed, making fun of Michael’s latest girlfriend and laughing at Owen’s most recent attempt to sneak a terrified pet past our mother.

“So,” he said, still grinning. “Got your escape planned yet?”

“Like I’d tell you if I did.” I curled up at the head of the bed and pulled a small, frilly pillow into my lap. It was one of those worthless, decorative things that do nothing but get in the way. My mother bought it, assuming I’d like it because I had ovaries. She was right, but for the wrong reason. I used it when I needed something to punch.

“You think I’d rat you out?” Ethan asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I know you would. That’s your job.” He didn’t deny it, and I couldn’t work up any real indignation. Trying to hold a grudge against Ethan was like trying to catch a fish with your bare hands. Not impossible, but damn near.

A soft shuffling sound from the doorway drew my attention. At the threshold stood Owen, my third brother. He was just tall enough that a chunk of his perpetually tousled hair brushed the top of the door frame. Dark eyes met mine and a smile spread across his face, slow and sweet as his Texas drawl. “Hey, sis, I heard you were home.”

“Owen!” I crawled off the bed, tossing the pillow aside, and ran toward him. He met me in the middle of the room, scooping me up into a hug to shame all others, the kind that pops your spine and steals your breath, all in the name of brotherly love. Owen was our resident farm boy, cowboy hat and all. He smelled like the land, like dirt, fresh water and hard work. His jeans were torn and permanently stained, which meant he hadn’t changed out of his work clothes yet. But then, he hardly ever did. Or, more accurately, he hardly ever stopped working, which eventually turned all his clothes into work clothes.

“Aren’t they feedin’ you up there?” he asked, holding me at arm’s length for a better view. “You’re lookin’ kinda skinny.”

“She looks good to me,” Jace said from the doorway. He dropped my suitcase on the floor and snatched Ethan’s apple from the dresser. Grinning, he took a big bite and sank backward into my desk chair, his arms crossed over the arched back.

“She is thin.” Ethan sat up to scratch one tanned shoulder. “But it wouldn’t be quite so noticeable if you’d wear actual clothes, Faythe.”

“I am wearing actual clothes.” I glanced down at myself, trying not to see his point. Okay, maybe my shirt was a little low cut. And tight. And my jeans didn’t quite reach my belly button, but that’s how everyone on campus dressed in the summer. We lived in Texas, for crying out loud. It was hot. “Besides, it’s not like you have any room to talk,” I said, eyeing his bare chest.

He shrugged, as if to say he didn’t make up the rules. “It’s different for guys.”

A double standard. Shocking, really.