The Eagle and the Fox (A Snowy Range Mystery, #1) by Nya Rawlyns Page A

stick, living every moment with the uncertainty of a sound or a smell or a feeling turning into a threat...
    How did a man learn to adjust, how did he compensate so he didn’t fall back into the chaos, how did he keep a scrabble hold on sanity? Marcus had no answers for those questions, and he doubted he ever would. That kind of journey was too personal, too private, for the likes of a civilian without a clue, especially when he was still struggling with his own lingering sense of loss.
    But there were questions he might entertain. Like... how could a friend help anchor that man until the bad passed. And how could that friend make the bad less, the good more?
    Time seemed frozen. Josh rigid, at attention. Petilune snuffling, her eyes bugging out. Marcus glanced at the steam and the steady whistle. He said to Josh, “If you shoot the kettle, there won’t be hot water for oatmeal.”
    “And that’s a bad thing how?”
    Petilune tittered. A slow grin speared the rough frame of whiskers. Josh visibly relaxed and mouthed, “Sorry.” He set the rifle against the door frame and moved toward the sitting area. Petilune curled into the corner of the couch and patted the seat next to her, all the while never taking her eyes off Josh. When the man obligingly settled next to the girl, she offered the edge of her blanket and nodded as Josh carefully stretched the thin fabric across both their laps.
    Marcus thought back to when Josh had lifted his two nieces like they were feathers, holding them secure. The man was a natural protector, something Petilune had sensed and accepted. It warmed Marcus’ heart to see the child finally calming down, though her eyes still darted nervously toward the door.
    What are you expecting, Pet? Who are you afraid of?
    After dumping the packets of dried oatmeal mix into bowls, he added hot water, raisins and brown sugar, stirring each until the steam dissipated and the concoction congealed. He used an overturned packing box lid as a tray, carrying the three bowls to the couch and doling them out to their reluctant recipients.
    Petilune sniffed the porridge and squinted her eyes. Conflicted, the child was too polite to refuse but not nearly brave enough to take a taste.
    Josh groaned, “Oh yum,” and dug in. His expression morphed from disgust to surprise. “Uh, this isn’t half bad, Marcus. What’d you put in it?”
    Petilune stared at the bowl. Marcus had a pretty good idea what the girl was thinking, but in spite of her reservations, she was listening to Josh as he spooned the oatmeal into his mouth. He pointed at the bowl Marcus held and grunted, “If you aren’t gonna eat that?”
    “Uh, no. You can have it.”
    Before Marcus could hand over his bowl, Petilune spoke up. “No, Uncle Marcus. You need to keep up your strength.” She swiveled just enough to extend her own serving in Josh’s direction. “You can have mine, Mr. Foxglove.” She blushed pink. “I don’t mind.”
    Josh lifted an eyebrow but took the offering, hiding a grin by diving into his second helping. Marcus squirmed under the girl’s fierce stare. Maybe the kid wasn’t quite as simple as most folks made her out to be. She’d certainly manipulated her way out of eating the oatmeal. And she had no intention of letting him off the hook either. He quickly ate his late evening snack while he mulled over her calling him “uncle” when up to that point it had always been “Mr. Colton” or “sir.”
    While he rinsed the dishes in the bathroom sink, he overheard Josh saying, “You can call me Josh if you like, sweetie.” His voice lowered. “Or Uncle Josh?”
    Petilune squeaked, “Oh no, sir. I couldn’t do that.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “’Cause you’re already an uncle.”
    Marcus had to imagine Josh nodding and working out the convoluted logic. He had a suspicion he knew where the girl was going and was rewarded when Petilune explained, “You’re already special.”
    Lord have mercy . Marcus shivered.
    Josh