Money Shot by Susan Sey

take a hit. Might have some trouble belonging.”
    “He was taken in by family.”
    “But by necessity, not by choice. And in a tiny community where everybody knew it, too.” She shook her head. “Tough on a kid’s self-worth, I’ll bet.”
    Rush regarded her steadily over their joined hands, and she stepped carefully because she knew this was dangerous ground.
    “And if that wasn’t enough to shake a kid’s foundation,” she continued, “then the government comes along and tosses his family ”—she purposely emphasized the word—“off its land and burns down what little claim to a home he has. Call me crazy but I think it’s enough to turn a normal person into an antigovernment gun nut with revenge fantasies.”
    “Nice analysis.” Rush lifted his water bottle, took a long pull. “Psych degree, I assume?”
    She stiffened. “Criminal psychology, yeah. Minor in family counseling.”
    “It shows. Only one little fly in the ointment.”
    “Yeah? What’s that?”
    “Einar doesn’t want to stab anybody with a flaming pitchfork, either. He’s too lazy.”
    “I’m not talking about pitchforks anymore, Rush.”
    “I know. You’re talking about something else. Something you haven’t trusted me with yet but are comfortable accusing my cousin of.”
    “I’m not accusing anybody of anything. I’m just . . . it’s complicated, okay? I’m thinking out loud.”
    “So let me help.” He took her other hand, turned her to face him, to face those brutal, honest eyes. “Tell me what we’re fighting here, and I’ll put my back against yours and we’ll figure it out. Or tell me to back off and get lost if you don’t want me or my help. I’m a big boy; I can take no for an answer. But I’m interested, Goose. In you. All of you. The yes or no is up to you, but do me a favor and make an honest decision. Don’t leave this hanging between us like an excuse.”
    His words thudded into the vulnerable center of her, drove themselves into her like splinters or maybe roots. Anchored themselves there and made her want to rock or howl or rage or sing. They made her want, period. She closed her eyes for a long moment, struggled to get what was in her under control.
    “Rush,” she said on a shaky exhale. “You’re so honest and you’re so brave, it shames me. I’m not good like that. Like you. But I’m doing my best here.”
    “It’s enough,” he said, twining his fingers into hers, dragging her closer. “Whatever you are, it’s enough for me.”
    She let him hold her for a moment then gently pulled free. “It’s not,” she said. “I’m not. Trust me on that. But what I will be is honest. As honest as I can be.”
    “Then tell me you feel this, too,” he said. He didn’t try to touch her again, but pinned her with his eyes. “Tell me you feel what I feel. In your gut. In your bones.”
    She loosed a hoarse chuckle. “That doesn’t begin to cover where I feel you, Rush.”
    He nodded once, hard. “Okay. Okay, then. That much’ll do. For now. Because I will push for the rest.” The smile that grew on his mouth was sleek, predatory, beautiful. “Fair warning.”
    She pressed a hand to her stomach, where she could, indeed, feel him. “Great. Thanks.”
    “Now,” he said. He handed her a water bottle. “Tell me the rest.”

Chapter 11
    BY MIDMORNING the next day, the weather had done one of those capricious early-winter one-eighties. The sun hung low and golden in a lazy blue sky, snow melted from the fir branches with wet, cheerful plops and Goose, snowshoeing behind Rush in winter wear rated to sixty below, was sweating like a fat guy at a disco.
    “Hey, hold up a minute, will you?” she called to Rush. He stopped reluctantly on the soggy trail ahead of her. Goose stripped off her outer shell and looped it through the straps of her backpack. The cool breeze cut through her fleece underjacket and felt like heaven.
    “Ha,” she said. “ So much better.” She jogged forward until she