Woman in Shadow

by Carrie Stuart Parks

  Think about something positive. Three of us went for help. One, maybe two should have found it by now. Help would be on the way to the resort.

  I just prayed the mule and dogs were on their way to the only other places they knew—the store in Targhee Falls or the Mule Shoe.

  What if I got to the resort and help hadn’t arrived?

  I could turn around and try to find a phone by riding an unbroken mule through millions of acres of wilderness.

  I could return to Mae’s cabin and wait it out. Maybe I’d learn to love Spam with cheese. But I doubted the mule, currently my only source of transportation, would hang around once he consumed the last of the hay.

  I could hide at the overlook to the resort and wait for help to arrive.

  Right. Just me in a thin jacket, without food or water, with night approaching, and a grizzly bear in search of another can of sardines.

  If I could get to my cabin, I’d have food and water as well as the kibble I’d promised to the dogs. I could stay out of sight until help came. And I could figure out the three things I needed to know. Why was the mine’s content so valuable? I had the mineral magazines Roy had given me. Who wanted it? I could go through the paperwork I had from Roy that I’d left in my cabin, although my notes were gone. How were they going to get away with all their crimes? That would be the hard one.

  We’d started up the heavily forested hill, so I ducked. I didn’t want to get brushed off at this point. The dogs found a game trail and the mule followed. The trail itself had numerous footprints. Among them were hoofprints.

  I sucked in a quick breath.

  The dogs picked up the pace.

  We burst through the trees onto a well-groomed path. We’d arrived at one of Mule Shoe’s maintained trails. The dogs turned west.

  The path crested and a sign appeared noting we were on Pinecone Path. It wouldn’t be long before the Mule Shoe came into view. What then? If a helicopter were there, or if people were walking around normally, I could just ride up to the front door.

  We climbed until we reached to top of a ridge. The resort lay around the next bend. I leaned forward so I wouldn’t be seen should someone look in this direction. We worked our way around the turn. Mule Shoe spread out below us.

  Chapter 28

  The ranch appeared empty. The only movement was the herd of horses in the pasture. I nudged the mule behind a large tree and waited. I didn’t have to wait long. A movement in one of the cabins caught my peripheral vision. I focused on the cabin’s windows. A few moments later, a curtain twitched.

  The killer had chosen the best location to keep an eye on most of the ranch—directly across from the lodge.

  To get to my cabin, I’d have to cross the open area where the gunman could pick me off at his leisure. Wait until dark? Try to circumvent the entire resort and come in from a different direction? The cabin would still be difficult to reach without detection.

  What I needed was a diversion.

  “I don’t suppose you dogs would like to go down there and create havoc? No? How about you, mule? Or better yet . . .” My gaze drifted to the horses. They’d gotten loose before and run around the resort in a wild stampede of dust and chaos. If I was in the middle of that on horseback, I could ride right up to my doorstep.

  Only two slight problems. I’d have to ride out of sight of the shooter. And I’d have to jump off a galloping horse and not get trampled by the rest of the herd. “Easy-peasy,” I muttered. Spam was looking better and better.

  I used to do something called the Apache hideaway trick, where I would hang off the side of the galloping horse. That required a special saddle, but I could do a version of it much like the original Native Americans did during war—they used the horse as a shield. I just needed to loop a strap around the horse’s neck to hang on to and hook my leg over the horse’s spine.

  Turning my attention to the logistics of creating a stampede, I studied the sprawling horse pasture. If I rode along the ridge until I was at the end of the field, I’d be out of sight of the cabin. The mule would announce his arrival and bring the herd over to check him out. If there was a gate at that end, I could get in and switch mounts. I wasn’t about to attempt trick riding on a green-broke mule. Even if there wasn’t a gate, I could climb through the fence.

  I had no idea of the time, but the sun was approaching the horizon. I had to get my plan going now or wait until the middle of the night. I was pretty sure I’d conquered the PTSD trigger of night and darkness, but I didn’t much relish the idea of stumbling around in the dark.

  The ridge and the field both ended. I didn’t have to turn the mule. He’d already decided he was home. He called out to his equine buddies with a loud grunting whinny, followed by an aw ah aw.

  A number of horses returned his call and galloped toward us. So far, so good.

  * * *

  Bram’s mind played a dozen scenarios of what could have happened to Darby. She could have been thrown like he was. Was she hurt? God forbid, dead? Or had she turned around and returned? Had she found her route too difficult?

  Did the killer follow her?

  That last thought left him twisted in knots. They never should have gone separate ways. He should have insisted Roy be the third rider.

  Had he finally found someone he wanted in his life, only to drive her away emotionally when he found out about her leg, then physically when he let her go for help alone?

  She insisted she wanted to be the third rider.

  He should have hung back this morning to be sure they weren’t followed. He folded his hands and bowed his head. “Lord,” he whispered, “protect Darby. Keep her safe. Bring her back to me. I promise I’ll never leave her. I’ll love her for all she is, a beautiful woman, a child of God.” He blinked to clear his vision and swallowed hard.

  Shhhhhhhhh.

  He looked up.

  The sound came again. The shuffling of hay.

  Bram’s pulse quickened. It could be an animal. Or . . .

  “Bram.” A whispered voice, little more than exhaled air.

  Bram jerked upright, winced from the pain, and scanned the interior of the barn.

  “Bram, help me.”

  His heart jackhammered in his chest. “Darby?” he whispered back.

  “Over here.”

  Thank You, Lord. Praise Jesus. He stood and gingerly moved toward the door leading to the horse stalls. “Darby?”

  “Here.”

  She had to be in the stall area. He hurried, trying to ignore his shoulder. The horse stalls were in darkness. “Darby?”

  Something smashed into the back of his head. Blackness.

  * * *

  The mule chose this moment to try to dislodge me. He bolted toward the horses, kicking as he went. I clung to the rigging, hoping he wouldn’t dump me before we reached the fence.

  He finally stopped at the fence line. I couldn’t see any gate, so I put plan B in motion. I dismounted on a shaky leg and looped the twine over the top rail. The horses had gathered and were checking out the newcomer. I removed one of the twine reins, slid through the fence, then stopped.

  The Appaloosa I’d ridden to Mae’s place was here.

  “Hello again, big fella.” I patted him on the shoulder, then wrapped the twine around his neck and led him to the fence. After slipping back through the rails, I removed the rigging from the mule along with the halter, then quickly returned to the pasture side, placed the halter on the Appy, and held tight. As expected, the mule took off, kicking up to celebrate his freedom, and the rest of the herd followed on their side of the fence. The Appy pranced in place, wanting to join in the romp. I untied him, grabbed a hunk of mane, and leaped to his back. He didn’t need encouragement. Ears back, he joined in the race.

  I held on to him with my legs, bent forward over his neck to keep a low profile, and tied the twine into a loop. I hoped I wouldn’t have to hold on long when I dropped to his side. The herd had reached the fence nearest the lodge. Keeping low, I guide
d the big gelding to the gate. Someone was moving away from the barn.

  I pressed myself against the horse’s neck and remained motionless. The herd’s restless stomping made it difficult to hear. I finally lifted my head and tried to see what was going on in the gathering dusk.

  The figure had disappeared.

  Which side of the horse would hide me? If the killer had moved toward the lodge, I needed to be on the horse’s left side. If he were in the cabin, the right side would conceal me.

  I wrapped my arms around the Appy’s neck and waited.

  The herd soon lifted their heads and flicked their ears forward. I risked a quick peek. I couldn’t see anyone, but the horses were staring toward the cabins.

  I bent toward the gate, removed the latch, and pushed.

  The Appaloosa moved through at a walk, which quickly became a lope. The rest of the horses shot through behind us and raced toward the lodge.

  I grabbed the twine on the gelding’s neck with one hand, his mane with the other, and dropped parallel with his body. My residual left leg stayed on his back, hooking onto his spine.

  It had been years since I’d tried this trick, and I’d been in top physical shape. Dust from the pounding hooves choked me, the twine ripped into my already-torn palm, and the musky odor of sweaty horses filled my nose. I couldn’t see anything. The horses pressed closely together. If I dropped now, I’d be trampled to death, but I wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. Oh, dear Lord!

  I’d have to sit upright and pray we’d passed the killer’s cabin and were somewhere near my own.

  I slid my leg farther onto the horse’s back while pulling up from the side of his neck.

  The gelding spooked, lurched sideways, and pivoted.

  I lost my grip and flew off his back.

  Chapter 29

  Bram opened his eyes. It felt like someone was hammering the back of his head and holding a hot poker to his shoulder. Something was in his mouth. A mixture of odors, all bad. He tried to move, shift to relieve the agony.

  His arms were stuck.

  He blinked, then tried to yell. The thing in his mouth was a gag.

  The last thing I remember . . . Closing his eyes, he tried to reconstruct how he got here . . . wherever here was . . . His horse fell, he’d been thrown, walked for miles, hid in the barn. Been attacked.

  Now he was lying on his side on something soft, arms tied behind his back. The smells made him want to vomit—an act that would surely kill him with the gag.

  He moved his legs. Tied together. Opening his eyes, he focused on the surroundings. Bunkbeds on the far wall and side, a table in the middle, worn dressers. The men’s side of the bunkhouse.

  Using his tongue, he tried to push the gag out so he could yell. It held tight.

  He tried to loosen the binding on his hands, but that brought blinding pain to his shoulder.

  Maybe he could stand, hop if need be, to find help.

  Trying to find help had gotten him into this mess. At least whoever had knocked him out had placed him on this bed and tucked a pillow under his head. He could have been left outside, tied to a tree, or left on the floor. This didn’t make sense.

  Why here? Why the bunkhouse? It was out of sight from most of the resort. It would, however, eventually be searched when Wyatt brought help.

  Unless Wyatt’s group ran into problems as well. Liam could also be bringing help. He hadn’t bothered to stop when Bram was thrown.

  A thought stopped him cold. Had Liam been given a GPS? Or just the three main riders? He couldn’t remember. Liam could even be one of the suspects.

  The stench grew.

  The back of his throat burned. Sucking in air through his nose, then holding his breath, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, then let the momentum swing him to a seated position.

  The room twirled around him. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He waited until the world stopped spinning.

  Now he could see there were people in the other beds. Motionless people.

  The odors sorted themselves out. The reek of dead bodies. And the pungent smell of gasoline.

  * * *

  I landed, rolled, and kept rolling. A hoof clipped my hip. Another set of hooves thundered past my head. I stayed in a fetal position, arms over my head. The ground rumbled under me. Oh, please . . .

  The drumming moved away. I remained curled up just in case a straggler came along. When it seemed the herd had passed, I uncoiled and checked for injuries. I’d have some doozie bruises, and I didn’t even want to look at my hip, but otherwise I was in one piece.

  I’d landed between my cabin and the next one. I could clearly see the window where the killer had stood. I couldn’t see anyone standing behind the curtain. I’d bet he was still watching the horses. That wouldn’t hold his interest for long. The dust was just settling from the stampede and I needed to put a tree or two between the killer and me.

  My canine crutch, Maverick, was nowhere in sight. Crawling would be faster than hopping. I wasn’t even sure my good leg would hold me up. Rolling to my hands and knees, I crawled as fast as I could to the nearest ponderosa.

  Leaning against the craggy bark, I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. Twice today I’d faced death. I tried to calm my racing heart and slow my panting. Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. I wasn’t strong or courageous. I was afraid and discouraged. But the strength to get out of the mine, ride that unbroken mule, and get away with fancy trick riding after a five-year hiatus wasn’t coming from me. Thank You, Lord.

  The sun had set, and nightfall drew close. For the first time since I woke up in that hospital room with a full-blown case of PTSD, darkness would be my ally.

  I planned my next move. I couldn’t crawl diagonally to the next tree—the one nearest my cabin. I’d be exposed the entire way. I needed to keep this ponderosa between the killer’s window and me by crawling straight away until parallel with the next tree. A fast ninety-degree turn and I’d be behind it. From there it was a straight shot to my cabin.

  Holly found me and gave me an enthusiastic greeting.

  “No, Holly,” I whispered. Holly continued to circle me, tail wagging. “Holly, go away, go.” She became more excited at my whispering. The killer might easily see Holly reacting to something and come out to investigate. He’d find me.

  I swatted her.

  Holly backed away, tail now still.

  My vision blurred. A massive lump formed in my throat. “Go now!” I whispered.

  The dog trotted away, turning every so often to see if I’d changed my mind. To see if I still loved her.

  An anvil rested on my heart. I wanted to call her back, to love on her. To ask for forgiveness. Instead I pointed away when she looked.

  Someday, somehow, if I lived through this, I’d make it up to Holly and Maverick. They’d saved me from a bear, from my nightmares, from death in the mine.

  I wiped my eyes and nose with the sleeve of my dirty sweatshirt and started crawling. When I’d gone beyond the next tree, I moved over slightly to see if anyone was watching from the window. I felt naked, exposed, and helpless now that I didn’t have the shield of trees.

  No one was at the window. Go now. I scurried over to the next pine. My cabin was tantalizingly close.

  My palms were on fire from the rough twine and from crawling on stiff pine needles. My jeans had a hole in one knee. All of my muscles ached. My residual leg ached and pinged. I waited a moment, then moved toward the cabin as fast as I could.

  Finally I arrived at the small porch. I used the handrails to pull myself up, then hopped through the door with Maverick close behind, closed it, and leaned against its wooden surface. In the gloomy darkness, I could see the room hadn’t been touched since I left. Crossing to the table, I picked up the binoculars still resting next to the fruit basket and moved to the window. No one was moving around that I could see. With the exception of the window shot out last nig
ht, the lodge looked the same. I scanned the building from end to end and was about to turn my attention to the rest of the resort when something stopped me—the tiniest glint coming from the corner of the lodge. It took me a moment to find it again.

  A knife was jammed sideways into a large crack in the logs. Only the back edge of the blade showed and the point extended slightly beyond the log. That’s what had caught the last rays of the sun. Surrounded by all the places someone could hide something, a crack in a log seemed odd. The good news was that the handle, which might have fingerprints, was protected from the elements.

  A final sweep with the binoculars revealed that the horses, having had their run around the resort, had returned to the pasture and were calmly grazing.

  After pulling the drapes tightly closed over the window, I did the same for all the windows. A chair jammed under the doorknob blocked that entrance. I could barely see. I turned to the dog, who’d sprawled in the middle of the room. “Maverick, this is the deal. We’re stuck here until help arrives, and you have to guard me if anyone tries to get in, just as you guarded Mae’s body from predators up there in the mountains. Okay?”

  Maverick thumped his tail on the floor. A bowl of dog food sealed our agreement. I wished that my luggage, including my iWALK, hadn’t gone over the cliff.

  A glass of water and several chocolate pieces later, I was ready to go to work. One final check of the resort with the binoculars revealed light seeping around the curtains in the killer’s cabin. If I needed a light, I’d have to be somewhere it wouldn’t show. The bathroom was at the back of the cabin and had a single window with a blackout blind.

  I sought the book Roy loaned me from the International Gem Society, a handful of books from the bookshelf, the stack of magazines, and the packet from Roy. I put everything on the bathroom floor, shut the door, and placed a towel along the crack at the bottom. I made sure I had matches in my hand before pulling the blind. The room disappeared into total darkness.