Page 20 of Red Hot Rancher

His insurance might not require a report, but after his house, he didn’t want to take chances. His rates were already going to skyrocket.

Fuck.

He grabbed a bigger flashlight from his vehicle. The damage was isolated to the front. He cast the beam over the hood.

Double fuck. The antlers had gouged and scratched the paint, his grill was busted, and there was a dent the size of the buck in the hood. It’d look worse in the morning.

But he’d seen worse accidents with smaller deer.

“Oh my. Look at that.” Brigit crossed to him. “I’m so sorry.”

Yep. “At least I slowed a little, or he might’ve taken one of us with him.”

“I never saw him.”

“I did, but not in time.” He sighed. Brigit rubbed his back. Deer accidents were common enough that everyone in Moore knew what came next: spending money to fix his vehicle. A lot of it. But they were okay. That was what mattered.

Headlights lit up the distance. He turned, almost wanting more time alone with her. It was cold and dark, but he barely noticed either.

“That was fast,” Brigit murmured.

“Must’ve been in the area.”

The patrol car parked behind his pickup, but at a slight angle to shine its headlights on the carcass. Caleb wished Farah were on duty, but he got along with the other deputies too.

Brigit sidestepped out of the glare of the headlights and hovered on the side of the road by his pickup.

Cote Yellowbird unfolded his tall frame and tipped his hat. “Cruise, you hitting my deer?”

Caleb grinned despite the pit in his stomach at his draining finances. “This here is a city deer, Deputy.”

Cote chuckled. “You’re my fourth deer-on-car action this week. ’Tis the season.” He wandered through the scene, shining his flashlight on Caleb’s bumper, then on the deer. The beam of light lifted to where Brigit waited by the pickup. She gave a little wave.

“Cote, do you know Brigit Walker?”

“The name only. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Wish it were under better circumstances.” She smiled but didn’t cross to join them.

Caleb gauged her stance. Was she just cold, or trying not to be seen with him?

Cote interrupted his speculation. “Tell you what. I’ll write you a permit if you wanna keep it.”

Loading Justin’s freezer with fresh roadkill venison would assuage his guilt slightly, but the logistics were hard to figure out. Grandpa had never been a hunter, and Caleb didn’t use his guns for anything other than the occasional rabid skunk or coyote stalking his calves. “I don’t have a field kit.”

“I always carry one, just in case, you know, a motorist turns down the offer.” Cote’s long strides ate the distance to his trunk. “You can borrow it. Lemme know when you’re on duty and I’ll swing by and grab it.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll spill the secrets behind the cuts of moose you donate to the firemen’s wild game feed?”

Cote flashed a smile as he handed over a leather bag full of tools. “I didn’t hear any of you complaining.”

“As long as it was fresh when you found it.”

Cote snorted. “It was probably in better shape than the vehicle that hit it. I’m sure it was a bunch of kids out drinking, and I’d love to hear how they explained to their parents why there was a dent the size of a seven-hundred-pound moose in their hood. They were only able to drive away because it’d been a young bull.” He murmured into the radio clipped to his collar. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

Their surroundings dimmed as Cote swung his patrol car back to do a K-turn and leave.

Brigit had been quiet the whole time, like she’d been trying to fade into the background. Easy to do in the middle of the night.

---