Note: Hello! Hope everyone's doing well! I'm attempting to participate in a KC bingo event currently happening, this is my first square. This one is vaguely western with supernatural elements and features a bit of Bonenzo. I'd love to hear what you think!
Leave the Roads, Take the Trails
(Prompt: "suspicious ranch hand." Title is a quote attributed Pythagoras. Rated T)
Two years after her mother's passing, about twelve years after her father left, livestock begin to go missing.
The first month it's just one, a calf that's been struggling. They might not have noticed, except Bonnie's been checking up on the calf every morning. Initially, Caroline's not too concerned. She rides out with Enzo, finds a trail of blood that leads to a sagging fence, blood droplets leading into the woods. They fix it, and she assumes the problem's solved.
Except the next month, they lose a yearling, a cow, and three of her most productive chickens. Caroline begins to grow concerned. The ranch sustains them, but she's working hard to turn more of a profit, well aware that the salaries she's paying Enzo and Bonnie are meager, that the temporary workers she relies on in the spring and during the harvest are far from the best of the best. Her savings are thin, and even a medium-sized disaster would obliterate them.
Caroline cleans her mother's old shotgun, rides into town for another box of ammo, internally wincing as she passes over her coins. Every night for two weeks, she patrols, a herding dog or two at her side, ears straining for anything out of the ordinary.
The nights are quiet, cold, and uneventful.
Most mornings, she almost falls asleep into her porridge. Bonnie and Enzo try to make her go to bed, but Caroline's not about to shirk the morning chores. The ranch bears her name, and it's her responsibility. She grabs a nap in the afternoon, insists that she's fine, even when her eyes are gritty and her body feels heavy with exhaustion. In the early evenings, while there's still light, she and Enzo work on reinforcing the fences.
After two weeks with nary an issue, Caroline decides the patrols are no longer necessary and eases back into her routine.
After a particularly great night's sleep, she bounds into the kitchen, feeling energized even though it's her turn to make breakfast – her most hated chore. Enzo's just coming in the backdoor, hat in hand, face grim. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, damp streaks on his jeans, which means he'd washed up in one of the rainwater barrels before coming inside.
Caroline stops abruptly while braiding back her hair. "What happened?"
"Lost a bull this time. Two of the lambs."
Her teeth clench, and she has the urge to slam her boot heel into the floor as if she were still a child and not a grown woman of twenty-six. Caroline takes in a breath through her teeth. "Damn it; I should never have stopped patrolling."
Enzo smiles sympathetically, tries to make a joke, "It was a full moon last night. Maybe you've got a local werewolf."
Caroline doesn't laugh. She stiffens, eyes widening, cursing her stupidity. Her father will be disappointed if he ever hears about this; he'd insisted she learn to track the moon phases when she was young. It's a habit that's waned.
Her father had left upon reading about a series of suspicious deaths in Chicago. Said he'd be back once he eliminated the brazen vampire, but he'd found another soon after. Caroline's accepted that her father likes being a vampire hunter more than a rancher.
If she's honest, she rather enjoys her lack of parental judgment.
Her complacency comes down to the fact that she'd been told that there hadn't been a werewolf in the area since the last Lockwood had picked up and set out for the city.
The gossip mill in town would have gone wild if a founding family member had returned so it can't be Tyler or his father or uncle. That doesn't mean a stranger hasn't recently moved or isn't passing through.
Enzo interprets her shock differently, patting her arm to offer comfort. "It'll be alright. We'll put in some more work on the fences, yeah? Make them higher on the wooded side. Why don't I take your turn at breakfast?"
She forces a smile, "Would you? I need to have a quick chat with Bon."
If they've got a werewolf, it'll be better if Bonnie explains to Enzo anyway. Enzo had been a drifter who'd shown up looking for a couple of weeks of work eight months ago. Caroline strongly suspects he's stuck around so long for the pleasure of Bonnie's company.
"Of course. She's out with the horses. Don't be too long, yeah? My pancakes are better hot."
When Sheila Bennett had died, Bonnie had been left with little. Once Grams was buried, the debt collector's filled their pockets. The crumbling house Bonnie had grown up in, a small patch of land, and nothing else. The Bennett homestead was adjacent to the Forbes' land, and Grams had been helping with the Forbes' animals for years, soothing sickness and healing wounds. Bonnie had been barely fourteen, with no other family, and Caroline's mother had offered Bonnie a place in their home.
"Bon?" Caroline calls, walking into the barn.
"Back here!" she calls out, and Caroline makes her way to the farthest stall, finds Bonnie brushing out Persephone, her favorite mare. "You saw Enzo?" Bonnie asks when Caroline's close enough that she no longer needs to shout.
"Yeah. Question, does he know that you're a witch?"
Bonnie pauses, throws Caroline a look as if she's insane to ask. "Of course not."
"Why 'of course not?' You must know he's stupid for you. You could probably tell him you needed his assistance in a naked moon ritual, and he'd be out of his pants before you finished your sentence."
"I don't do naked moon rituals."
"I know that, but he doesn't. Could be a good way to move on from those intimate fireside chats you two are so fond of."
She's teasing or trying to, but Bonnie's expression remains serious. "I'm not going to tell him. We can't afford for him to leave."
It would be a struggle, but they'd make do. She and Bonnie had survived worse. "You mean you don't want him to leave."
Bonnie turns away, and Caroline follows, helping when Bonnie heaves a saddle off the wall. "He's not Jeremy Gilbert," Caroline says, quieter now. She can't guarantee it, of course, but she suspects Enzo's loyalty is a stubborn thing once given.
Bonnie doesn't reply; Caroline decides to table the subject. Possibly until such a time when she can ply Bonnie with liquor and sweets, until she's a little more loose-lipped. "Well. Turns out we might have a werewolf."
Bonnie sighs, "I think so too." She gives Persephone an affectionate pat, "I'll ride out with you after breakfast and see if I can sense any trace of magic. Is there anything you can send Enzo to town for?"
"I'm sure I can think of something."
A jangling rings out, causing Caroline to jump because they rarely bother with the dinner bell. She nudges Bonnie, then throws the saddle over Persephone's back. "C'mon, let's hurry up. Enzo offered to cover breakfast, and he obviously wants it appreciated."
"He does cook better than either of us."
"But we're not going to tell him that; he'd be insufferable."
Bonnie laughs, finally, and a bit of Caroline's earlier good mood returns.
At the next full moon, Caroline's prepared. She has her mother's rifle and two revolvers her father had left behind, one loaded with silver bullets. It's a contingency should the worst happen, and the werewolf gets close enough to hurt her. She'd rather not kill a person just because they happen to transform into a wolf once a month. They might be perfectly lovely otherwise.
She tucks a knife into her boot, straps on the rifle.
Enzo's leaning against the water trough, watching her worriedly. "I still think you should stay here."
Caroline rolls her eyes. "And I think that's adorable, but I'm a better shot than you are. I'll be fine."
She's taking the perimeter tonight, leaving Enzo and Bonnie to guard the house and the barn. Bonnie's enchanted the bracelets Caroline wears under her leather coat. She'd picked up a signature last month and connected it to the jewelry. Bonnie's spell should help point Caroline in the right direction.
She's slightly annoyed at Enzo, suspects he doesn't quite believe them about the werewolf. Bonnie has yet to confess she's a witch, likely sensing the same thing and sinking deeper into her doubts about Enzo's steadfastness. Bonnie's withdrawn from Enzo, tends to flee when he enters a room. He's grown moodier in response, and Caroline's had the strong urge to smack some sense into him a time or two.
She still needs to get Bonnie drunk, too. Hopefully, she'll solve the werewolf problem tonight, and then she can devote more attention to matchmaking.
Which is different than meddling, in Caroline's expert opinion.
Caroline sets her foot into a stirrup once her weapons are accounted for and swings herself up into the saddle. Enzo's arms are crossed, she's tempted to tell him to stop pouting, but she knows he's only worried about her. She smiles, settles in, "Don't let any more of my animals get eaten, okay? And make sure Bonnie gets a decent dinner. She's been working hard lately."
Bon's insisted on putting up additional protections. She hides it, but Caroline knows that's exhausting.
Enzo nods, serious, "Aye, aye, Captain."
"Hmm, I kinda like the sound of that. Maybe a little salute? Could be fun."
He fights it but Caroline spies a small smile. "Don't let it get to your head." He hands her the bag she'd packed, taking the reigns while Caroline gets it situated. "Be careful out there, will you?"
"Promise. I'll be back at first light."
Possibly not alone, but she's not going to tell Enzo that.
He'd only worry more.
The bracelet on her left arm warms first, and Caroline urges the horse in that direction. By the time she reaches the gate that opens into the forest, the bracelet's practically humming. She's not surprised; Bonnie had said the most potent traces of the werewolf had come from the area. Werewolves are, at least according to her father's lessons, creatures of habit. Caroline turns the horse around, leading him to a patch of grass that should keep him occupied. She hops off, tying off the reigns so the horse won't trip while he grazes. She unbuckles the saddlebags and walks back to the gate, hanging them on a fence post.
Then she grimaces, reaches in, and pulls out a hunk of beef that she would much rather be using for a hearty dinner. Caroline winds up and heaves it as far as she can, reaching in for another handful. Once the meat's been thrown, she cleans her hands as best she can with a splash of water from her canteen and a handkerchief. She then sinks to her knees, propping her shotgun between the fence slats, and settles in to wait.
Bonnie's magic warns her when the werewolf approaches, the metal on her wrist heating until it nearly hurts. Caroline rips it off and tenses, squinting into the darkness, taking careful, even breaths. She hears leaves rustle, underbrush crunching. She swallows a shocked noise when the wolf first lumbers out of the treeline.
She'd known it would be larger than the typical wolf but knowing is different than seeing. The werewolf is enormous.
Its fur is fairly pale, a sandy brown, making it easier to see under the moonlight.
Caroline's next inhale is shaky, and she lets her finger rest on the shotgun's trigger. The wolf eats the meat she'd provided, sitting down when it's gone. Caroline's muscles are starting to ache with the effort of staying so still.
Best case scenario, the wolf is satisfied with the meal she'd provided and lopes back into the forest. Then, Caroline can continue with her discreet inquiries in town. Three people have moved to town recently; a family's taken up residence in the old Salvatore ranch. The werewolf must be among the newcomers; she's just got to figure out the most likely suspect.
Tonight, luck is not on her side.
The wolf's head tips up as he sniffs the air. Caroline hears hooves faintly, just behind her, much closer than they should be.
The wolf stalks closer, unmistakably hunting, and Caroline silently curses, carefully lining up her shot.
She catches the wolf's shoulder just before it leaps, and she cringes at the high-pitched yelp of pain it emits. She fires another shot, wide this time, hitting a tree. It's enough to scare the wolf away, and it retreats, limping into the forest.
Her horse nudges at her pack, and Caroline sighs, sitting down in a more comfortable position. She digs out an apple, takes a bite before offering it to her horse. "I hope you know; I just saved you from being dinner."
The horse is unbothered, only concerned with his treat.
Once the last trace of the night sky recede, Caroline treks into the woods. She's careful to keep her footsteps silent, has one pistol loosely clutched in her hand.
The one loaded with silver sits heavily at the small of her back. The bracelet guides her though she likely would have been able to track without it. She spots blood at a few points, a streak against a tree here, a few drops decorating the grass there, and there's a distinct set of prints.
Guilt churns in Caroline's stomach, but she tells herself her aim was good – she'd learned to shoot as soon as her hands were big enough, her mother had insisted she become even more proficient when Caroline had been a teenager. She's beaten every boy her age in town at the summer fair, most of the men older than her too.
It had to have been a clean shot.
So caught up in her anxious musings, she almost misses the body in the clearing.
Caroline crouches low to the ground and tucked behind the trunk of a thick maple. She catches the relieved breath before it exits her mouth when she sees the steady rise and fall of the man's chest.
A fairly nice one, not that she's leering.
He looks like he's resting, his hand clutched over his shoulder. There's blood but not what Caroline thinks is a life-threatening amount. He must have healed some in werewolf form.
She hadn't put much thought into this particular portion of her plan, something she regrets now. She's confident he's not a threat, naked and injured as he is, so she tucks the gun away.
Caroline stands, runs a hand over her hair, dislodging a few bits of leaves. She strides forward, no longer taking care to be sneaky. "Good morning!" she calls cheerfully as if they're meeting at the market.
The man scrambles to a sitting position, dragging himself back with his uninjured arm. Caroline lifts her hands so he can see them, turning so he's no longer in her line of sight. "Sorry!" she says, "didn't mean to startle you. I did mean to shoot you, but I'm sorry for that too. You've already eaten too many of my animals."
He clears his throat, "Miss," he says, something stern in the tone even though his voice comes out a hoarse scratch, "What are you doing out here?"
She scoffs, "I should be asking you that. This is my land. Why are you on it? And without a stitch of clothing on?"
There's a lengthy pause. "I assure you, there is a perfectly logical explanation."
He's not quick to supply it, and Caroline takes pity on him. She tosses her pack behind her in his general direction. "There's clothes in there, clean handkerchiefs in the front pocket. You're welcome to them." He doesn't reply, but she hears cloth rustling, assumes he's taken her invitation. "Let me know when you're decent."
He makes a noise, soft and amused. His motions seem to hasten.
She's relieved he seems willing to hear her out, at least. Or perhaps the blood loss has made him more pliable. Caroline suspects she knows who he is, but she'd rather not have to chase him down in town.
No need to invite gossip.
"You can turn around now."
Caroline whirls. She'd filched the clothing from Enzo, and it hangs a bit on the stranger. He's left several of the shirt's buttons undone, has bunched up the linen she'd offered, and his hand presses it to his wound.
Katherine Pierce, who owns the saloon in town, had described one of the newcomers as "pompous but easy on the eyes" before talking up his physical charms. Her descriptions, many of them borderline lewd, fit this man to a tee.
"Klaus Mikaelson, I presume?"
His brows rise in surprise, "Correct. And you are?"
"Caroline Forbes. I own this land, the ranch to the east. And the livestock you've been snacking on for the last three months."
His eyes narrow, shoulders straightening, and his gaze grows cool and dismissive. Caroline understands where 'pompous' had come from. "I have no idea what you're speaking of."
She doesn't try to hide her annoyed sigh. She grabs one of her revolvers, the weightier one. Caroline flips open the chamber and shakes out one of the silver bullets. "Catch," she says, tossing it at Klaus' face.
His hand flies up automatically, and he hisses in pain once his fist closes around the silver. He throws it aside, shaking his hand.
Her point made, Caroline stows the gun again. "You're a werewolf. I'm fully aware of the existence of werewolves. Let's move along to the real issues, shall we?"
Klaus doesn't look happy about it, but he nods stiffly.
And because Caroline's not a total monster, she offers and assurance first. "I won't tell anyone."
He doesn't respond, but he seems in no hurry to leave, apparently intent on studying her person.
Caroline wishes she looked slightly more put together if she's honest.
She tips her head in the direction she'd come from. "Why don't we head back to my place? My friend Bonnie's a witch; she'll be able to make sure those wounds heal right up. I'll even throw in breakfast."
He appears mystified. "I'm a werewolf, love."
"And? We've established that."
"I'm dangerous."
She laughs. Klaus remains unamused.
"I've got five more bullets that can kill you, another gun and a knife for good measure. You're not even wearing shoes, and I can hear your stomach growling."
"It's improper. Your reputation…"
"Oh, that was tarnished ages ago," Caroline informs him breezily. "Matt Donovan, have you met him? I think he's the Sheriff's Deputy now. I fell hard and fast for his pretty blue eyes when I was seventeen, and everyone knows about the time we were caught sneaking back into the church at the Founder's Day picnic. My dress was horribly grass-stained. He bumbled through a marriage proposal the next day, but I let him down easy."
Klaus blinks, mouth slightly ajar.
That may have been more information than he needed, but she's forgotten how fun it is to be shocking. Caroline generally minds her manners in town and pours on her considerable charm so people will buy from her, or trade, with a minimum of fuss. It's only at home that she can be free and genuinely herself.
"My parents were wildly eccentric," Caroline continues, "so really, I had no chance with the snobbier townsfolk."
Klaus opens his mouth like he's going to offer another argument, and of course, he's stubborn.
Caroline's confident she's more than a match in that department.
She spins away before he can say anything else. "We can do this again next month if you like, gunshot wound and all, probably. You've returned to the same spot three times. Seems like a pattern, doesn't it?"
She hums a tune, meanders away like she has all the time in the world.
Caroline counts to four before she hears Klaus' footsteps following her.