Title: By Paths Coincident 26/?

Author: Honorat

Rating: T

Characters: Jenkins, Eve Baird, Jacob Stone, Isaac Stone, Cassandra Cillian, Ezekiel Jones, Parker, Alec Hardison, Eliot Spencer, Damien Moreau, Chapman, Lamia, Sophie Devereaux, Nathan Ford, Tara Cole, Flynn Carson, Others TBA as needed.

Pairing: Parker/Hardison, Cassandra/Jake, Cassandra/Eliot, Eve/Flynn, Nate/Sophie, just a touch of Eliot/OC in the past

Disclaimer: Dean Devlin, John Rogers, TNT own these characters.

Description: The Librarians discover Leverage International. Jacob Stone and Eliot Spencer have a family past, but they aren't the only members of the two teams who've met before. Expect whiplash between light and dark.

By Paths Coincident

Black Diamond, AB, Canada

For an instant Eliot and Spark remained frozen, a sculpture within a landscape. The only sound, the only motion in all that vast, still whiteness came from the rising clouds of their breath. The concealing trees gave no clue to Eliot, but he felt the vibrations start deep within Spark before she voiced a startling neigh.

From somewhere out of sight, an answering neigh rang faintly.

Spark unthawed and broke into a trot, heading off the track in the direction of the call. Her stiffness had dissolved back into easy motion, and Eliot grew less tense. Whatever lay ahead, Spark clearly expected no danger. However, he did not entirely stand down from his alert because what might not seem a threat to her might yet pose danger. The strange horse might be alone, but horses were often accompanied by riders, and any human presence added an element of unpredictability to the situation. It was his job to anticipate trouble Spark could not imagine.

Because he was entering an unknown situation, he initiated contact with Hardison. "Something's come up. Spark's all riled about another horse over in some trees. I'm gonna check it out."

He got no response. Apparently, he was out of range of any local cell service. Come to think of it, it had been some time since he'd last heard Hardison chatting either to him or Parker. For a moment, he considered pulling out his radio, but then he was having to duck to avoid being brushed off Spark's back by low-hanging branches.

The row of poplars and spruce followed the edge of a narrow gully that in warmer seasons would contain a stream. At first, as Spark threaded through the dense growth, Eliot couldn't see the horse that had responded to Spark. Continuing to allow her free rein, he rode out the shifting jolts as she skidded down into the cut. Once at the bottom, Spark sped up again, her mood remaining interested and unalarmed.

As the two of them rounded a bend where the stream dropped even lower, Eliot pulled Spark to a halt in surprise. The last thing he expected to find, sheltered in the curve of the bank, was a young woman, kneeling in the middle of what looked at first like a medical emergency, surrounded by trampled snow mixed with blood and other body fluids and tissue.

Then, he realized that her arms were full of a slimy, newborn calf, nearly as big as she was, partially wrapped in some sort of fabric.

Eliot re-holstered his superfluous bear spray.

The horse who had attracted Spark's attention, a sorrel mare, stood ground-tied nearby. She whickered happily at seeing another horse, and Spark answered in kind. The girl looked up at them, her round, pale brown face younger than he had at first thought. He could see the tracks of tears on her cold-reddened cheeks. Whatever had been the emotion behind the tears did not prevent her from giving him an elated smile.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh, thank God! Can you help me?"

"Happy to," Eliot agreed, urging Spark down beside her. "What can I do?"

"Oh!" The girl's voice was exasperated now. "That wretched Medea broke out of her pen and ran away to have her baby. And she always abandons them. She's such a terrible mother. If she didn't throw a champion every time, she'd be packaged in the freezer right now!" Her short, dark curls bounced from around her knit cap in emphasis. "And this little gal needs her mommy's milk."

As if in agreement, the calf let out a faint, rusty bleat.

Spark jumped a little at the sound.

"I'm afraid I don't have any milk on me at the moment," Eliot said.

"You have a horse," the girl said. "Can you fetch that stupid cow back here?" She gestured toward where tracks led away out of the gully on the other side.

Eliot realized that she had used her coat to wrap around the calf and that she was shivering.

"One stupid cow, coming right up." He grinned at the girl and slid off Spark's back. Removing his own jacket, he offered it to her. "Here, put this on. It's cold out here."

"Thanks," she said, taking the jacket and adding it to the insulation around the calf. "I've got my own padding." She nodded at herself. "Baby here is just skin and bones and wet to boot."

Eliot started to object but realized it wouldn't do any good. The girl obviously cared more about the animal than she did herself.

"You don't have a saddle," she observed. "Take mine. Do you know how to use a rope?"

"Oh yeah." Eliot led the eager Spark over to meet the sorrel. "Spark's a pretty fair roping horse."

"That's Scrambler," the girl said. "She's not usually a roping horse, but she's versatile. I was hoping to find Medea in time, but we didn't realize she'd gotten out until too late."

"Medea. Cute name." Eliot undid the cinch while Spark and Scrambler touched noses and squealed at each other.

"Well, you know. We don't name all our cows, but it's the bad mama thing." The girl cuddled the calf closer. "I'm Hilde, by the way. Hilde Densmore."

"James McCoy." Eliot pulled the right side stirrup and the cinch over the saddle, then lifted it off of Scrambler's back.

"Oh, you're the one who broke down in Daphne's driveway," Hilde exclaimed. "She said you had a great horse."

Hadn't Hardison said the two girls were rivals as well as belonging to feuding families? Settling the saddle on Spark's back, Eliot reflected that the speed of gossip in a small community was faster than Hardison's comms.

At that moment, he heard Cecile's voice back up on the track.

"James? Where'd you go?"

"Oh, shit," Hilde said dismally. "I'm going to be in so much trouble."

"Really? What for?"

"Daphne's mom hates me." Hilde looked forlorn.

"James!"

Eliot glanced at Hilde apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm gonna have to answer."

"It's okay," Hilde sighed. "It's been that kind of day."

Before Cecile could get more impatient, Eliot called back, "I'm over here, by the stream."

By the time Caspar and Cecile appeared in the brush above the bank, Eliot had the cinch done up and was preparing to mount again.

"Why did you . . ." Cecile started to address him, and then she caught sight of his companion. "What are you doing here?" she asked Hilde, her voice going from saccharine to strident in a syllable. "This is Ghost Ridge land. And is that our calf? Answer me, young lady."

Eliot intervened. "Miss Densmore's here after a runaway cow that abandoned her calf. You and me are gonna go catch her." He gave Cecile the sort of smile she'd been fishing for since they met and swung up on Spark at an angle precisely calculated to rivet the attention of his unwanted admirer. Pivoting Spark so Cecile couldn't see his face, he winked at Hilde. "We'll have your cow back here in two shakes."

"Thank you," Hilde said fervently, "for everything!"

"No problem." Eliot put Spark at the opposing embankment. "C'mon!" he beckoned to Cecile. "Let's catch us a cow."

Caspar begrudgingly picked his way down the bank and up the other side but not nearly as begrudgingly as Cecile.

The tracks of the cow led up over the hill above the stream. As he and Spark reached the crest well ahead of the laboring Caspar, Eliot's earbud came alive again.

" . . . and if he doesn't get back in range, what are we gonna do?"

"Hardison," Eliot spoke quietly. "I'm fine. I've met one of our clients, the daughter. She's stuck out here and needs some help getting milk for a newborn calf."

"I'm almost done," Parker said. "I've got milk. And cereal!"

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. Of course she did. "I'm fetching her a cow, Parker." He tried to keep the impatience in his voice to a minimum.

"Leave it to Eliot to find a damsel in distress to rescue." Hardison laughed.

"This ain't no damsel," Eliot told him. "Farm girl. Tough as nails."

He heard Caspar's puffing breath and crunching steps approaching.

"Company. Gotta go," he said.

"Honestly, why can't she catch her own cow?" Cecile complained as she caught up to Eliot. "If it even is her cow and not one of ours. I don't trust people like her."

"What do you mean?" Eliot asked as he directed Spark along the set of cow tracks that now led down the hill away from the gully.

"You know. Those Native sorts." Cecile wrinkled her elegant nose. "They should stay on the Reserve where they belong."

Spark leapt ahead as if Eliot had just put spurs to her sides.

"Eliot," Hardison interjected hastily, "I know this is the kind of person who makes you very angry, but please don't beat the mark to a pulp just yet!"

"Or wring her neck," Parker added.

Eliot had no intentions of blowing the con, but he was adding Cecile Benarden to the acceptable collateral damage. She was going down with her husband.

"Look, I don't know how much you know about cattle," Eliot controlled the bite in his voice with iron effort, "but newborn calves that get chilled and don't get their mama's first milk right away don't survive real well. So let's just get this damn cow back to her baby."

He might have over-emphasized his need to get moving with his heels, because Spark gave a startled crow-hop and set out sideways at a bone-jarring trot, her ears clamped back.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," Eliot apologized. "It's not your fault."

He had to control is body language better, but thinking about Cecile treating that spunky kid back there as if she was something to scrape off her boots was making his blood boil.

Just breathe.

Retribution could wait.

Eliot forced himself to release the tension that was upsetting Spark. She rewarded him by straightening out and slowing down to an easy, ground-devouring jog. He didn't look back to see if Cecile was following, but he could hear the jangle of Caspar's bit.

What he could not hear was Hardison and Parker. Apparently the only cell coverage out here was on the tops of the hills.

Medea was keeping to a fairly straight course that eventually rejoined her tracks leading from where she had given birth back toward the Densmore land. Having rid herself of her discomfort, she was heading home.

Halting Spark, Eliot turned and waited for Cecile to catch up.

"Which direction is Hilde's ranch?" he asked, careful not to reveal any pre-existing knowledge. "Southeast or southwest?"

"I'm pretty sure it's that way." Cecile waved vaguely southeast.

"Then let's try cutting her off. She's keeping to the valley, but that's the long way around. We'll go up and over as the crow flies."

He hoped he was making the right decision. At least with all the snow on the ground, they weren't going to lose their way.

"C'mon." Eliot turned Spark and sent her up the slope.

Spark and the out-of-breath Caspar arrived in a flurry at the top of the hill, and Eliot called a halt while he scanned the barren landscape for any sign of a lone cow.

"There she is." Cecile might be a pain in the ass, but she had a sharp eye.

"Okay, let's see if we can just herd her back to her baby."

The two horses worked their way down into the valley again, this time ahead of Medea.

Any hopes Eliot had that Medea would cooperate soon vanished. The cow refused to be redirected, lowering her head, which had actual horns, and trying to dodge around them.

"Oh, no you don't!" Eliot told her, loosing Hilde's rope from her saddle. "You're not gonna get away with bein' a deadbeat mama."

Using an unfamiliar rope was going to be tricky.

"You and Caspar see if you can keep her from getting past us," he directed Cecile.

"I really have no idea what I'm doing," Cecile snapped back. "I'm not a ranch hand."

"Use your imagination!"

Swinging the loop to widen it, Eliot approached the belligerent Medea. "You know, I'm really startin' to dislike you," he told her.

Medea swung her horns threateningly.

The first toss of the rope slapped uselessly across the cow's neck. Eliot wasn't surprised. He hadn't worked cattle regularly in years, and he didn't have this rope's measure yet.

Swerving away from Eliot and Spark, Medea tried to make an end run around Caspar.

"What do I do?" Cecile squeaked.

Fortunately, Caspar was an old cow horse. He spun nearly fast enough to unseat Cecile and cut off Medea's escape route.

"That!" Eliot shouted back, reeling in the rope and preparing to try again. "Just keep your horse between that cow and Densmore's, and let him do the rest."

Having a better feel for the rope, now, Eliot sent Spark plunging after Medea, swinging it and feeling the weight and tension in it. At the perfect moment, he released the loop to float out over Medea's wicked horns and settle around her head. Spark slid to a halt and began to back up, pulling the rope taut between her and the cow.

Medea lurched back, flopped around a bit like a fish on a hook, did her best to strangle herself, and then resigned herself to her captivity and stood still.

"Y'know, this is all your own fault," Eliot told her as he shortened up the rope. "You coulda just moseyed on back to your calf like a sensible cow. But no. You had to try to outwit us, and let me tell you now, that ain't ever happenin'! And now you gotta choke on this oversized necktie. You let me know how that goes for you."

Progress back to Hilde and the calf was slow, proceeding in fits and starts, as Medea occasionally cooperated and trotted along beside the horses but even more frequently resisted arrest, shaking her head and pulling back on the rope. Some of the time Eliot had Spark just drag her while Cecile and Caspar brought up the rear of their little procession.

It was with relief that they finally towed the recalcitrant animal back into the gully.

"You found her!" Hilde cheered. The girl was still where they had left her, crouched in the snow holding the calf wrapped in both their coats. "Now, if we can just get her to let her baby nurse."

"How about we try tying her up? Is she likely to be aggressive?" Eliot asked, directing Spark so that she did most of the work hauling Medea up to a sturdy tree.

"I don't know. We should probably hobble her so she can't kick."

"You got any hobbles?" Eliot hitched the standing end of Hilde's rope around the trunk with a quick release knot. He had no faith in Medea's good sense not to strangle herself.

"No. I didn't think to bring those." Hilde made a disgusted face at her lack of foresight.

This was going to suck. "Let me show you a little trick I learned in . . . well it comes in handy when you need temporary hobbles. Can I use Scrambler's lead shank?"

"Sure," Hilde agreed. She watched as Eliot untied the lead from around her horse's neck and unclipped it. "Guess it's a good thing I was in such a hurry I didn't take off her halter."

Eliot positioned Spark alongside the cow and dropped her lead, ground tying her so she could function as a sort of barricade to keep Medea from evading him or her calf. Giving Medea's restless hindquarters a wide berth, he approached the cow from her other side. The soothing hand he ran along her flank did nothing to calm the nervous switching of her tail. This was going to be a shitty job, literally and figuratively. He was going to have to move fast.

"Be careful," Cecile warned him.

It was good advice, but taking it would involve not attempting this at all.

By the time he had two loops of rope around her far pastern, the damn cow had kicked him twice, stomped all over his feet, and lashed his face with her scourge of a tail more times than he could count. Spark braced herself and refused to move as Medea heaved against her side. The mare laced back her ears, glared, and bared her teeth, and for a wonder, the cow seemed intimidated enough to avoid her.

Eliot, on the other hand, inspired no such respect. Medea was determined to do as much damage to him as bovinely possible. While Eliot struggled to twist the rope several times and loop it around the cow's near pastern at the price of another set of bruises, he relieved his feelings by describing to Medea in detail the most elaborate dishes he could imagine making with every single part of a cow, complete with wine pairings.

She got back at him by whipping him with her filthy tail.

As soon as he had the knot tied in the makeshift hobbles, Eliot threw himself out of range.

"I take it back," he told her balefully. "You are not worthy of being seared in olive and truffle oil! Hamburger. Greasy, fast food hamburger, overdone, with a stale bun and flat root beer. That's all you're good for."

Hilde's profuse apologies for his injuries were somewhat less convincing interspersed with her giggles at his tirade.

Cecile had a hand over her mouth that could be concealing either shock or amusement.

Eliot just gritted his teeth, sitting in the snow and rubbing at the spot on his thigh where Medea had landed her solidest kick. He'd be lucky if he wasn't limping for the next few days.

"Okay, we need to try to get Medea interested in her calf," Hilde said. "Can you take her off me?"

Getting stiffly to his feet, Eliot forced himself to walk steadily over to Hilde. Bending down, he lifted the calf out of her arms. She was a good-sized heifer calf, at least 70 pounds, he judged. She'd need every ounce of weight she had to counteract the cold she'd been subjected to.

"Owwwww," Hilde groaned. "I think every nerve I own is asleep."

The girl got to her knees with all the grace of a severely arthritic grandmother.

"Ouch. Ouch. I don't have any feet anymore," she whimpered. "Okay, while I figure out how to walk, can you see if Medea will just try licking her calf? That might jumpstart her mommy instincts."

Medea could not have been less interested in licking her calf if it had been made of stone.

Hilde hobbled over and tried smearing birthing fluids on the cow's muzzle and tongue to encourage her to lick. Medea remained impervious to her baby's weak cries.

"The poor thing is so hungry!" Hilde was near tears again. "I don't know if she can stand. I hate to put her in the snow, even though trying to get up would be good for her."

"Cecile," Eliot called. "Can you get the blanket off of Spark?"

He thought Cecile might refuse. After all, this was a woman who hired staff to saddle her horses for her. But then she gave an elegant shrug, dismounted, and crossed over to Spark.

Spark laid her ears back and rolled her eyes threateningly at the woman.

"Cut it out, Spark," Eliot yelled. "Let her get your saddle off."

Spark remained obdurate in her dislike.

"I'm not going anywhere near that animal." Cecile decided, returning angrily to Caspar.

"I'll get it," Hilde said, wiping her messy hands on her jeans.

Spark pinned her ears again at the approach of a stranger, but Hilde kept chatting to her, moving slowly and calmly as she removed the saddle, and the mare did not carry out her threats although she never stopped looking as though she would like to.

When Hilde had the heavy blanket spread on the ground, Eliot deposited the calf gently on its insulating surface. They watched as the little creature tried and failed several times to fold her forelegs under her chest and wriggle her rear end up into the air. Eliot was about ready to give in and try to help her when she heaved up on her hind legs. It took several more attempts, but she finally stood on all four wobbly pins making pathetic, hungry noises.

Hilde pointed her in the right direction.

Medea objected strenuously, but she was pinned between Hilde, Eliot, and the calf on one side, and a furious Spark on the other, while the hobbles prevented her from kicking. However, her tail got in a few more irritated slaps as Eliot supported the calf while she nuzzled in the general direction of her mother's milk.

"Come on," Hilde encouraged. "You can figure it out. All that nice milk is right there."

Finally, the calf latched on and begin to suckle tentatively.

"Yes!" Hilde exclaimed. "Go. Go. Go!"

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Eliot slapped the calf on the rump.

He and Hilde exchanged high fives. Cecile merely looked bored and haughty.

Medea calmed down, because she really did want to be milked, but her disinterest in her calf continued unabated.

"Stupid cow," Hilde muttered. "I suppose we'll have to keep tying you up to nurse for weeks."

The girl was pressed up against the warmth of the cow, shaking. She was really a tiny thing, coming barely up to Eliot's shoulder in height. She didn't look capable of the feats of endurance she had exhibited. Her jacket was soaked with the fluids from the calf so there was no point in suggesting she put it on.

Eliot sighed and shed one more layer, his plaid flannel shirt. That left him in his thermal underwear, which fit him tightly enough to renew Cecile's interest in the proceedings.

"Here," Eliot offered his shirt to Hilde. "Put this on yourself this time."

"No, I can't take your clothes."

"Yeah, you can," Eliot insisted. "And then you'll put on my jacket because it's in a lot better shape than yours. I'm gonna help you get this critter home, and you can give them back to me there."

While the calf finished nursing, Eliot wrapped Hilde in his shirt, but she insisted the calf keep the jacket.

"What's the worst that could happen to me?" she asked. "Frostbite? Pneumonia? I'll be fine."

Eliot had seen mules look less stubborn. He shrugged. He couldn't force her to wear his coat. "I'm gonna put the saddle back on Spark. You good with riding bareback? You'll be a lot warmer."

Hilde nodded, her teeth chattering too much for her to speak.

There was no way the girl was going to be able to mount her horse. In fact, she probably didn't have the coordination for a knee up, either. Eliot solved the problem by lifting her and setting her on Scrambler, as if she were his nephew back when he had been a little shaver.

"Thanks," Hilde managed.

Dusting off the damp blanket so that at least there weren't any bits of dirt or twigs that might rub sores, he carefully re-saddled Spark. "It's just for a short ride," he promised. When he had the cinch done up, he transferred Medea's rope to the saddle horn. Getting the hobbles off her cost him three more bruises and numerous tail-lashings.

"Dogfood." Eliot amended his previous threats. "Not fit for human consumption. You are gonna be dry, generic-brand kibble."

"Don't I wish," Hilde agreed fervently.

With Medea secured for transport, that left her calf.

Scooping it up, Eliot approached Spark. "Hey girl, mind if we take on a hitchhiker?"

Spark sniffed the calf, then lost interest completely. Taking that as consent, Eliot settled the calf across the saddle and mounted behind it. The two of them made a tight fit. Eliot took a minute to adjust the calf for minimum discomfort. Then he tucked the coats securely around it.

"Let's go," he told Hilde and Cecile.

Cecile cleared her throat. "I believe I will head home now. You don't need me anymore."

Eliot supposed that for Cecile to show up at the Densmore residence would more than awkward. He nodded. "Thanks for the tour and your help."

"Yeah, thank you, Mrs. Benarden," Hilde added.

"You're welcome," Cecile told Eliot, ignoring Hilde. "See you later." Giving Eliot a final come-hither smile, she invited, "Don't forget to drop by the house for that cup of coffee or maybe something a little stronger when you get back. You must be completely frozen."

Counterfeiting an anticipation he did not feel, Eliot smiled back. "Thank you, ma'am. I sure appreciate the offer. I will if I have the time."

He was not going to have the time. Parker would be at the ranch to rescue him when he returned—if she hadn't been arrested for speeding and reckless endangerment. With a farewell wave to the departing Cecile, he turned Spark to follow Scrambler.

As the rope tightened, Medea refused to budge. Spark set herself for a tug-of-war, and Hilde brought her horse around to add to the cow's motivation. Finally the ornery beast was moving, and they clambered out of the gully. They followed neither Medea's path nor the one Eliot had taken with Cecile. Hilde was familiar with the terrain in a way that let Eliot know she had been here more than once before. She conducted them on a direct route that led through a forested cut between two hills. Medea finally settled down and allowed herself to be driven ahead of the two horses, although Eliot left the rope on her just in case she changed her mind.

"They always let you skip school to herd cattle?" Eliot asked Hilde by way of making conversation.

Hilde gave a bitter not-laugh. "Someone has to do it, and since the accident, that someone is me or my mom. She had to take my dad to see a specialist in Calgary this morning, so . . . " Hilde shrugged. "My math teacher was not amused. I missed a test today."

"Accident?" Eliot asked gently. Hardison hadn't said anything about an accident. This was new intelligence, but he didn't want to push Hilde into uncomfortable revelations if she didn't want to confide in a stranger.

"My dad," Hilde said. "He was coming home late from the city, and someone came right out of a side road, ran a stop sign, and T-boned him. He doesn't remember much, and whoever it was didn't stick around to help or even call 911. It really broke Dad up a lot—his legs, his pelvis, his lower back. That was just after Christmas. He's in a wheelchair now. Doctors don't think he'll ever walk again. He wants to, but wanting isn't always enough, is it?"

"Yeah, I guess it's not." Eliot had walked away from a lot of things he probably shouldn't have, survived when he'd been given up for dead more than anyone had a right to, but what Hilde was talking about—losing the ability to move? That had to be close to his deepest dread. Hilde's father had to be going through hell.

"He hates having to leave all the stuff he used to do around the ranch to me," Hilde said. "I didn't tell him about that test."

"So, you take care of the whole operation?"

"No. I mean, not really. Mom and Gramps help. Sometimes my uncle takes time off from his farm on the Reserve. Dad says we need to hire someone else, but people kind of like to get paid, and where's the money supposed to come from?"

And with the ranch hemorrhaging cattle like Hardison had indicated it was doing—Eliot shook his head. There was something about the whole situation that was ringing some fairly ominous bells in the back of his mind. It was a good thing one of the Densmores had contacted Leverage.

Their conversation and his thoughts were interrupted by their arrival, more quickly than Eliot had expected, at the fence line that separated the Ghost Ridge Ranch from the Circle Bar D.

Communication with Hardison and Parker also resumed. He could hear Parker singing along with the radio in the car, although she was not singing the song that was on the radio. The resulting cacophony made him want to smash his earbud—while it was still in his ear—with a sledge hammer. Gritting his teeth, Eliot refrained, reminding himself that at least it wasn't Sophie's acting.

Not too much further, they came to a gate constructed of poles and barbed wire.

"Someone's going to have to open that." Hilde scowled at the unwieldy contraption.

"Let me give it a try," Eliot offered. Maneuvering Spark alongside the gate, he slipped the wire loop over the fence post and yanked the gate post out of the lower loop with hands that were growing clumsy with cold. The gate became a sagging, dragging, uncooperative collection of wire and assorted poles. Spark delicately avoided getting her feet tangled in any of it and pivoted allowing Eliot to keep the gate as taut as possible. When their little cavalcade had made it through, she performed the entire operation in reverse.

"Wow!" Hilde was impressed. "She's really well-trained."

"Yeah," Eliot said, patting Spark's neck approvingly. "And whip smart, too."

"We're almost there," Hilde said, sighing. "You'll be able to see the place just over that next rise."

As they came up over the hill, Eliot got his first view of the Circle Bar D Ranch.

Hilde waved her arm. "This place has been in my father's family since before Alberta was a province, and my mother's people were here ages before that. She says our land gave birth to Canada."

"Your mom's First Nations?" Eliot asked, although he had gathered that from Cecile's comments.

"Yes." Hilde wasn't looking at him. "We're Tsuu T'ina."

Eliot wasn't familiar with that nation. "So all this," he indicated the land rolling up to the foothills, "is Tsuu T'ina territory?"

Hilde did look at him then. "Yeah, but most people don't get that a treaty isn't the same thing as a sale."

"Hey, I know," Eliot said. "My mother's mother was card-carrying Oklahoma Cherokee. The summer my mama died, I spent a lot of time with my Elisi, and we'd go visit her family on their farm." For a moment the pale landscape blurred, and instead, he was riding horses with Jake and their cousins over gold-green hills in the warm August wind. It was a memory he usually avoided, tied up, as it was, in so many feelings of loss.

"I'm sorry," Hilde said.

Eliot didn't know what his face had revealed, but it had obviously been too much. "It was a long time ago," he said, nudging Spark to pick up her pace. "Let's get on down there."

To his relief, Hilde dropped the subject and followed his lead.

Medea had ceased trying to outmaneuver them. Getting it into her skull that home and food were nearby, she trotted eagerly down the trail that led to the farmyard below.

Having just toured the Benarden spread, Eliot was struck by how insignificant the Densmore operation appeared. A small, shabby two-story farmhouse shared a yard with a single-wide trailer and a crumbling, ancient cabin. The rough porch on the trailer was grey with age, but the ramp up to it making it wheelchair accessible was still the gold of un-weathered boards. Other than the residences, only a few small outbuildings and sheds were scattered between the rail-fenced areas. The largest building on the property that might have been a shop or a barn was nothing but a pile of charred timbers. Eliot felt a shiver of sympathy. The aura of despair about this place was like a physical weight.

Hilde noticed the shiver but misinterpreted it. "You're cold!" she said. "Let's hurry and get you and that calf warmed up."

As if she wasn't freezing herself. His shirt wasn't nearly adequate for the temperature, and she hadn't stopped shivering herself.

Before the final drop into the valley, they crossed a level area containing the triangle of barrels where Hilde must practice her sport, and Eliot remembered the covered arena he and Cecile had visited on their tour, with its neatly harrowed sand provided by the Benardens for Daphne. These two girls led very different lives.

As they rode into the yard, they were met by an ecstatic, elderly border collie who took over the management of Medea with arthritic determination. The dog was followed by two people coming out of the house. Eliot recognized them as the Leverage clients from the Facebook photo.

"We found her!" Hilde crowed, slipping off Scrambler's back and falling into her grandmother's arms. "And the baby is okay. A grand little heifer calf."

"We should probably get her somewhere warm," Eliot pointed out.

Attention shifted from Hilde to him.

"Oh!" Hilde remembered her manners. "This is James McCoy. He helped me catch Medea and get her baby fed. Mr. McCoy, this is my grandmother Inge, my grandfather Arvid. I'm sorry. I don't know anything else about you."

Eliot noticed she left Cecile out of the narrative. She had also given him no indication that she knew he was here in Black Diamond to help her family. Someone was keeping the call to Leverage a secret. "I'm just passing through," he said, leaning down to shake the senior Densmore's hand. "Truck broke down, and the Benardens offered to board my horse while we get it repaired."

"That was . . . kind of them." Inge Densmore sounded surprised. "I'm sorry about your truck, but grateful you were there to help Hilde."

"My pleasure, ma'am." Eliot took her offered hand and bowed a kiss over it.

Inge blushed like a girl.

"We can put Medea in the small pen. There's a shelter there, and she'll be available to nurse her calf," Hilde said, recalling everyone to the more pressing business at hand.

"You should go inside," Eliot told her. "You're practically an icicle." He turned to Inge. "She's been sitting in a snowdrift holding onto this calf for better'n three quarters of an hour."

This information set Inge to clucking and fussing over her granddaughter.

"Not until we've taken care of the calf," Hilde insisted.

"I'm sure me and your grandfather can manage," Eliot said.

"Yes, come with me, Hilde." Inge put a shepherding arm around Hilde's shoulders. She delivered a last bit of instruction over her shoulder as they reached the back door of the house, "After you've let that calf nurse again, bring her inside. We'll keep her in the kitchen for a little bit."

"Get one of Reidar's coats for Mr. McCoy, here," Arvid called after the two women.

"Of course, poor boy!" Inge popped inside and bustled back out clutching a leather coat lined with sheepskin.

Over Eliot's protests that he was fine, and in spite of Spark's ears-back glare, Inge thrust the coat into his arms. "My son is a little narrower than you, but I think you'll be able to fit into this. He doesn't wear this one anymore."

After that, what could he say but "Thank you, Mrs. Densmore."

She patted his hand, "You just put that on before you catch your death."

Then she patted Spark on her ill-tempered nose. "And you, get a smile back on your ears, missy. I'm taking care of your man."

The startled Spark snorted and threw back her head, but her ears went up.

There was really no arguing with grandmothers. Obediently, Eliot donned the coat. The shoulders were a bit tight, but he had to admit that the warm wool was a welcome addition.

"When you bring that calf in, I'll have coffee ready. You do drink coffee?" Inge gave Spark a final nose rub. "That's a good girl."

Spark shook her head like she was ridding herself of a horsefly.

Coffee sounded wonderful, but Eliot needed to keep his time spent with the clients to a minimum. "Thank you, ma'am, but I'm afraid I have to get back. I'm meetin' my girl for lunch."

"You are?" said Parker.

"Shhhh, mama," Hardison said. "Eliot's busy. And he can't hang out with the good guys. He's supposed to be a bad guy."

"Ever notice how hard that's getting for him?" Parker asked.

"Yeah, that crispy burnt coating is full of gooey, soft marshmallow," Hardison teased. "Poke him, and he goes squish. Kids, puppies, little old ladies—he's a walking Hallmark card. You know, the most terrifyingly impressive thing about the US military is how they managed to turn a guy like that into the guy Eliot used to be."

"Well, my dear," Arvid said to his wife, "we'd better get this young man on his way."

Eliot turned Spark to follow Arvid. "Hardison, I'm gonna plant a bomb in your orange soda if you don't shut up," he threatened sub-vocally. "What's gettin' hard is keeping my act straight with you two nattering in my head."

For a wonder, Parker and Hardison piped down and let him work.

Arvid led the way to Medea's new home with Eliot and Spark and the dog keeping the cow in line behind him.

"Just hold her here for a minute while I get the halter and hobbles," he told Eliot.

When Arvid returned, he added a forkful of hay to the manger at the back of the shed, and Medea settled down to being tied, munching dreamily as if she were a perfectly docile beast. Spark went all envious over Medea's windfall, but Arvid forked her some hay too, so she settled down. He also brought a small colt blanket to exchange for the coats still wrapping the calf.

Contemplating his returned jacket, Eliot figured Parker was going to make him ride in the trunk of the car. He draped it over Spark's saddle to air it out and maybe dry a little of the calf goo in the sunlight.

While the calf rested on some straw, Eliot and Arvid got the cow kick-proofed. In the process, Eliot added two more bruises to the score he had to settle with Medea.

It hadn't been that long since the calf had last fed, but that had been a bit of a rushed affair, complicated by the need to get her back to where she could be warmed. Now, given another chance, the calf tucked in to nurse a little more vigorously than she had at first.

Arvid eyed the evidence that those weren't the only times Eliot had been kicked that day. "Sorry about that," he said. "You've been a right good neighbor for someone who's a stranger in town. Our Hilde's a capable girl, but she needed a hand today."

Eliot brushed off the apology. "No problem. Glad I could help."

"We've got more cause than this to thank you for, I'm thinking." Arvid's gaze was sharp now. "You're with that Leverage group, aren't you? Ms. Parker informed me that someone by the name of James McCoy would be dropping by to sort this cattle rustling situation out."

"It's just Parker," Parker mumbled in his ear.

"That's what we do," Eliot nodded, consigning Parker to the role of white noise and therefore to be ignored. "Although it'll probably be best if we don't meet again until I've wrapped it up. "

"I understand," Arvid agreed. "Although I don't know what you can do that the RCMP haven't already tried."

Eliot grinned. "Only everything that the RCMP haven't been able to try."

Arvid raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Sounds like I'm better off not knowing."

"Probably," Eliot agreed. Law-abiding citizens usually found the ease with which Leverage went over the line a little too nerve-wracking.

As Arvid broke open a bale of straw to add to the insulation on the ground around the cow and calf, he confessed, "I haven't told the rest of them. We've always been a proud family, and my son would never forgive me for asking for charity. But you can't eat pride. Inge and my daughter-in-law Gwen and Hilde do their best, but I don't know how much longer we can hold on. And I'll be damned if we lose this place without a fight."

"We're not in the business of charity," Eliot pointed out. "We're in the business of justice."

Arvid looked like he was trying to decide if that answered his objections or even made sense. He frowned. "I appreciate you taking on our problems like they're your own, but I wish you'd let me pay you something."

Eliot gave Medea a poke in the haunch as she showed signs of trying to tread on her calf. "Leverage runs on an alternative revenue system. We really can't take anything," he explained.

"Forgive me for saying this, but you seem too good to be true."

Eliot shrugged. "Way I see it, you haven't much to lose by trying."

"I suppose you're right. We've certainly run out of other options." Arvid gave a laugh that echoed Hilde's in its bitterness. "Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for anything you can do. But we've kind of used up all the hope around here. And the thought of having a little again is almost worse than having none at all."

Arvid leaned on the fence and contemplated the calf who represented something caught back from the jaws of whatever curse seemed to swallowing his home. "I guess I haven't told the others partly because I didn't want to hear about doddering, naïve, old men who get taken by charlatans on the Internet, and partly because I didn't want my son to feel I don't believe he can manage this place now that he's disabled, but mostly because I don't want to get their hopes up and then have them crushed."

"I understand," Eliot said. And he did. It was a story he'd seen reflected in so many eyes over the years he'd been a part of this team. Being a part of retrieving people's hope from the ruins of their despair was a gift salvaged from the lost dreams of his childhood, and he could never sufficiently thank Nate for having returned that to him.

He was really looking forward to taking Benarden down. Which involved getting back to Ghost Ridge. Eliot began unsaddling Spark. "Where can I put Hilde's tack?"

"She's keeping it in the trailer now that the barn's gone. You'll need the key." Arvid handed Eliot a ring of keys with one selected out. "We were fortunate that's where it was when the fire happened. And more than that, there were no animals in the barn at the time."

"That's still a tough break."

"Yeah. These things happen."

Eliot was starting to think too many things had "just happened" to the Densmores.

By the time he had Hilde's saddle stored, the calf was done her meal. Arvid turned Medea loose in the pen, but left her hobbles on. She'd be able to move around, and no one else would have to go through the rodeo of getting them on her again.

Looping Spark's lead over his arm, Eliot pre-empted the older man and picked up the sleepy calf a final time. When Arvid objected that Eliot had done enough, Eliot just set out for the house. "You can carry her when we get there," he assured Arvid.

Inge met them at the back door with Eliot's shirt and a disposable cup of coffee. "You can take it with you," she said.

"I think I'm in love with your wife," Eliot told Arvid.

"You're about forty years too late, son," Arvid responded, putting his arm around Inge.

"Oh go on with you," Inge laughed.

Eliot handed the calf over to Arvid, who took it into the house. Then he gave Inge back her son's coat. "Thanks again," he told her. Shrugging into his shirt and grimy coat, he took advantage of the steps to the house as a mounting block to make getting on Spark a little easier.

"Don't forget your coffee!" Inge handed the cup up to him.

Eliot cradled the steaming beverage in his chilled hands. "This'll certainly hit the spot."

Arvid and a round ball of blankets with Hilde's face peeking out appeared in the doorway to wave good-bye to him.

Resisting the impulse to showboat out of the farmyard at a gallop like the hero in a B western movie, Eliot turned Spark back on the path they'd come in on, keeping her to a slow jog. Before he got out of range of telecommunications, he needed to contact his team.

"Hardison?"

"Yes, John Wayne? Or is it Clint Eastwood? Or, I know, it's Tom Mix, isn't it?"

Eliot ignored Hardison's pathetic attempt at humor. "What can you dig up about a hit and run accident involving Hilde's father some time around Christmas? It may have been a coincidence, but I'm just sayin' . . . "

"You think our mark put out a contract on him?" Parker asked, sounding intrigued instead of horrified.

"I don't know, but there's a pattern here I recognize, and it's not a good one. Either they've got hell's own luck, or someone's stacking the deck. See what you can find on their barn fire, too. They may both be chance, but if I were trying to drive someone out, that'd be the way I'd do it. Take out the person in charge. Reduce the assets. If that's it, they botched the hit, though, and I wouldn't be surprised if they try again."

"That's a hell of a lot of trouble to go to for a piece of dirt," Hardison pointed out again.

"We need to get into Benarden's office," Parker said. "The mechanic found the computer problem in our truck, so we have our alibi. We work on getting Eliot a job offer tonight."

"The job." Hardison's voice went up a notch. "The job that was supposed to be Eliot becoming a cattle rustler but that now involves him cozying up to a murderer and arsonist? That job?"

Before Eliot could respond, Parker jumped in. "It's not like he hasn't done all those things himself. He'll know just how to act."

"Because it's not an act," Eliot said quietly.

"Yes it is," Parker insisted. "Now get the man the information he needs," she told Hardison.

"I'm on it."

Cecile had her eagle eyes peeled for Eliot's arrival back at the Ghost Ridge Ranch. By the time he'd turned Spark out in her corral, the relentless woman was loitering by the gate.

"Parker!" Eliot hissed. "Are you here yet?"

"Almost!" Parker exclaimed over the sound of screeching tires.

"If you get pulled over instead of saving me from this woman, I'm gonna kill you!"

Eliot pasted a smile on his face and turned to greet Cecile.

"So, you've met our charming neighbors, the Densmores," Cecile said, her voice dripping with disdain.

He was the bad guy, Eliot reminded himself. He was on the same side as the Benardens. For now.

"That place is kind of a dump, isn't it? Held together with baling wire and rotting wood." Eliot shook his head. "I've seen some crummy operations, worked on a few, but that one takes the cake."

"Oh, I know." Cecile tucked her hand into the bend of his elbow and snugged her unwelcome self up against his arm. "But let's forget about them. How about that drink I promised you?"

Eliot could hear the crunch of gravel on the drive although he couldn't see the car yet.

"As much as I'd love to," he told Cecile, "I'm afraid I've promised to take Kira out for lunch."

"Kira?" Cecile looked blank.

"My girlfriend," Eliot reminded her. "You met her last night at the gate. And here she is!"

He did not have to fake the delight on his face as he saw Parker bouncing out of the car she had parked behind Spark's barn.

"Oh, yes, of course," Cecile agreed smoothly, her tone dismissing Parker as irrelevant. "Well, some other time, perhaps?"

"Count on it," Eliot smiled at her. Slipping out of her grip, he held out his hand. "It's been a pleasure."

"Indeed," Cecile shook his hand briefly then watched with calculating eyes as he hurried away from her towards his "girlfriend."

For the sake of sending Cecile a message to back off, Eliot asked Parker, "You got a hug for me, sweetheart?"

Parker's personal space varied wildly and erratically. Sometimes he couldn't peel her off with a spatula, and every time he moved his arm he'd elbow her in the ribs. Other times, like with the hand-holding, Parker kept her distance as if she'd measured it and set up caution tape. Then there were the times when Parker simply disappeared, as though breathing the same air as other people was too much contact. The only constant was that Parker picked the level of formality for the occasion.

She had become far better at controlling her proximity alerts on the con, but Eliot never wanted to cause Parker any discomfort. So he made it a point to give her the choice as much as possible.

This time was one of the spatula moments. She threw herself at him like he was a hundred foot drop. Given the lack of warning, Eliot had only a fraction of a second to brace himself for the impact of her arrival.

Parker clamped her arms around him in her jaws-of-life grip and nuzzled her nose into his neck, inhaling deeply. "My Eliot," she mumbled.

"It's James, Kira," Eliot reminded her under his breath, shifting his balance to adjust for her weight. Cecile wasn't close enough to hear Parker's mistake, but they needed to be in character at all times in public.

"I know, silly." Parker pulled back so she could look him in the eyes. "But that wasn't James' hug. That was Eliot's."

The bubble of amusement that frequently accompanied his conversations with Parker brought an affectionate grin to Eliot's face. "You're starting to sound like Sophie," he warned Parker. "What does James get, then?"

"Nose kisses," said Parker, kissing him coquettishly on the tip of his nose. "Because James is a boyfriend."

"Should I be jealous?" Hardison's voice came over the earbuds.

"No!" Eliot had to resist setting Parker firmly aside—assuming he could detach her.

"Yes!" Parker giggled. "But you can kiss Eliot's nose next time."

"We gotta go," Eliot growled.

"Not before I get my nose kiss," Parker said, her eyes all mischief, her hold on him still industrial strength.

Eliot tried to hang on to some vestige of bad temper as he took Parker's wind-chilled face between his palms, but an overwhelming tenderness nearly staggered him as he dropped a kiss on her nose. His Parker. His family.

"And who was that for?" Parker asked almost shyly as he lowered his hands to her shoulders.

"That was for Parker and Kira and Alice and the ghost in the air vent and whoever you want to be, all of you."

And fuck the supercilious, McGill lawyer Cecile who wasn't worthy to tie one of Parker's shoelaces.

"Now I am jealous," Hardison complained.

"Eliot can kiss your nose next time, too." Parker finished her hug and unlatched her arms.

"I'm pretty sure that's not what . . . you know what? I'm just gonna go get in the car. You two figure it out." Eliot stomped off with Parker's and Hardison's laughter vibrating in his ear.

Parker skipped after him and grabbed his hand. "Hey," she said. "You really stink. And now, so do I. We need to find a laundromat."

TBC

Notes:

I wish to thank Gina, my very dear friend and member of the Vuntut Gwich'in Nation, for helping me create First Nations characters and for advice on how to handle racist characters. Any errors are entirely my own.