7 Wild East by Melanie Jackson Read Free Book Online

livestock had left. That didn’t mean I wanted strangers more
than my husband’s naked body.
    “I’m sorry, but the plane has been grounded. It has the engine
trouble.” Big John spoke patiently, but I knew our mayor and he was annoyed.
This suggested that he had explained about the plane at least once before. Big
John hates repeating himself—unless it’s fishing stories. “And as I explained
before, we have nae telephones and the radio is broken. Ye must bide in patience
a wee while.”
    The main question was who he was addressing, the Mountie or
the surveyor, who might hereafter be known as the Dirt if he was the one
bothering our mayor. I was leaning toward the surveyor. I didn’t think young
Thomas was the kind who needed to be told things twice.
    I knocked once on the door and then entered. I won the bet
with myself. It was the surveyor who was ruining Big John’s morning. I guess
that was to be expected once he found his equipment gone.
    “Good morning.”
    “No, it is not a good morning,” Pete said, swinging around
to face me. His eyes were bloodshot and I was betting he had a bad headache.
The hooch takes people that way. “This—this man says there are bear tracks all
around the inn.”
    “The man’s name is John McIntyre and he is our mayor
and your host. And there are bear prints. I saw them on the way in.”
    Pete looked taken aback.
    “I don’t believe it.”
    “Go look for yourself.”
    “And I suppose the bears snuck into my room and stole my
survey equipment!”
    “Careful,” I cautioned, in no mood for a brawl. I don’t
believe in shooting the messenger for bringing bad news, but there was no
denying that Pete, the Dirt, wasn’t on my list of favorite people that morning.
“Was it in your room? Or did you leave it on the porch? The bears might have
taken something if there was any food left in the pack. Was there?”
    I could see from Pete’s face that there had been.
    “Yes. It would be best to be sure of your facts before
accusing someone of stealing,” said a voice behind me.
    I turned to see Officer Merryweather, all spruced up and
looking official. I managed not to groan, but just barely. I could see that Big
John was also something less than thrilled to have another body in his office.
He was probably wishing that he had joined the survey team.
    “Good morning,” I said again. “I’ve come to see if you would
like to have breakfast with Chuck and me. But first, Pete Mitchell, meet Officer
Merryweather of the RCMP. Pete Mitchell is a surveyor with the SGB.”
    I hadn’t come to the inn for that reason, but I lie well when
it is expedient and removing young Thomas from Pete’s general vicinity seemed
like a good idea, especially since I heard the Flowers slamming cupboard doors
in the kitchen and knew she was angry.
    Thomas nodded politely. The surveyor didn’t. I thought of
the old adage about good manners costing nothing and I was willing to bet that
young Thomas had been raised with that one too.
    “I would be honored to break bread with you, whenever you
are ready to go,” Thomas said at last. He was much more self-possessed and I
wasn’t certain if that was an entirely good thing.
    “I’m ready.”
    The surveyor was fuming but silent.
    “Sir,” Thomas said to the surveyor, “I was on that plane
yesterday and it was the most harrowing experience of my life. We had an engine
cutting out through the entire flight. No sane person would get in that crate
until it is overhauled. Frankly, I can’t believe that it meets federal aviation
safety standards.”
    With that he turned and strode off. I hurried to catch up.
    “This way,” I said as we left the inn, though there was only
one way to go.
    “Those are bear tracks?” Thomas asked, pointing at the
ground.
    “Yes.” Rather sloppy ones left by a blurred cast by men
working in the dark.
    He looked thoughtful at this news instead of apprehensive.
The expression worried me.
    “I saw someone take the survey