Page 48 of Omega’s Fold

Caleb does the calves. Caleb does a lot of things. I let him, because he wants to, and because I am tired in a way I have not been tired before.

Donna comes Wednesdays for Matthew. She does not come in. She takes him and she brings him back and she gives me a look on the porch every time that says she is counting, and I know what she is counting, and I don’t ask.

My head is full of Julian. I can’t stop thinking about him. I never stop. His scent is everywhere. I dream about him. He might be gone but I can’t escape him. My head spins with thoughts that cycle over and over and never go anywhere.

It’s a Tuesday in the middle of the third week that Caleb comes into the kitchen and says the feed is low.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go in after lunch.”

I’ve not been into town since Julian left. Caleb is sitting next to me looking out his window the way he does. He reaches over and turns the radio up a couple of notches when a song I like comes on and the two of us sing terribly all the way to Main Street.

We turn into Halsey’s parking under the faded sign that says HAY/FEED/HARDWARE/PROPANE. The bell over the door rings when we come in.

There are four men at the coffee pot in the back corner. Halsey is behind the counter and there’s a woman I don’t know near the nail bins.

All five of them stop what they are doing when I come in.

“Hey Wyatt,” Mr. Halsey says.

“Hey Hal.”

“Good to see you in. Been a while.”

“Been busy.”

He nods. He says, “Caleb, son, go grab me one of the mineral tubs from the back, would you?” and Caleb goes, and when Caleb is gone Mr. Halsey leans on the counter with both hands.

“Heard about the match,” he says. “Heard you saw him off.”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He says it flat, the way he says most things. “Glad to hear it.”

One of the men at the coffee pot calls across. “Wyatt. Come have a cup.” I know him. His father farmed the section next to ours before Donna and Roy took it over.

I go over. I take a cup. Mr. Halsey keeps pots of coffee going all day and has done since before I was born. The coffee is always terrible.

He clasps my shoulder once and lets go. “Heard your alpha turned out to belong to Linden. And you had to keep him in your house two weeks.”

“Government order said I had to.”

“Bureau,” he says, spitting the word out sideways. “Hell of a thing, that. Hell of a thing.”

The man next to him — his name is Eddie and he works at the co-op — leans in. “You know what I think? I think they planted him.”

There it is. All four of them nod.

“Come on,” I say.

“Hear me out,” Eddie from the co-op says. “Linden’s got lawyers. Linden’s got people in Denver. You telling me they don’t have somebody in the Bureau office who can pull a name off a list. They see Briggs come up on the match. They see the Briggs parcel is a holdout they’ve got left in this whole valley. They see an architect on their payroll come up as the match. You’re telling me that’s a coincidence.”

“I dunno,” I say, although I’ve been thinking the same thing.

“Either way,” he says. “Don’t matter. He’s gone now. You got him out. That’s the important thing. Man like that, up at the ranch, sleeping in your mother’s house. Sleeping in your mother’s house, Wyatt.” He shakes his head.

Mr. Halsey, from the counter: “Eddie.”

“I’m just saying.”