by Janet Dailey
"You aren't going to leave Max lying there... in the rain, " Jordanna protested.
Brig gave her a stony look. "He's past the point of knowing that it's raining. " He stepped into the stirrup and swung smoothly into the saddle, leading Fletcher's horse.
Tandy followed him, leading his horse and the limping bay. At the picket line, Jordanna and Kit's horses stood saddled, a blanket draped over the leather to protect it from the rain. Brig and Tandy did the same with their horses, all except the injured bay.
"We'll have to clean out these wounds and put some disinfectant on them, " Brig said. "Go get some from Jocko. " The saddle tree was broken. Brig uncinched the saddle and lifted it to the ground. "I'll save the cinch straps. The rest of the saddle is worthless now. " As he pulled off the saddle blanket, he noticed the line of gouged hide beneath it. He frowned. "Look at this. "
"Must have cut himself when he fell, " Tandy commented. "I'll fetch that medicine. "
Opening his mouth to call Tandy back, Brig hesitated. He turned back to the horse and re-inspected the wound and its location beneath the saddle blanket. He was suspicious of the wound. It would take a very sharp rock to cut like that. Bending down, Brig picked up the saddle blanket and looked on the underside. In a corner, corresponding to the location of the wound, he found a thorny twig imbedded in the stiff material. The thorns were savagely sharp and large.
Brig rolled it between his gloved fingers. There hadn't been any thorn bushes or berry bushes on that slope. In his mind, he went over the route of the trail. There hadn't been any along there either. Where could the twig have come from? The last place he remembered seeing bushes with thorns the size of this one was two or three days ago. It couldn't have been caught in the saddle blanket all that time. Tandy wasn't that lax.
His fingers closed into a fist, the thorns of the twig digging through the leather into his palm. It had to have been put there by someone. As a practical joke? Had someone wanted to see Max get bucked off? It was certain that the instant those thorns dug into the boy's back, the horse would start bucking. Which is exactly what it had done.
Brig studied the location of the wound again and the placement of the twig Initially the thorns would be a minor irritant to the horse. Brig remembered how skittish the bay had been when Max had first mounted at camp. The thorns wouldn't pierce the hide until the rider's weight shifted to the back of the saddle— as it had when the bay had started to climb the switchback trail.
Someone had killed Max—deliberately or accidentally. There wasn't anyone in camp with such a perverted sense of humor to play this kind of practical joke. That left a deliberate attempt. But why? Brig shook his head in confusion and tried another approach.
Fletcher had been the last one to handle the bay before Max got on it He had tied the horse up after Tandy had ridden out its morning buck. That meant Fletcher had the opportunity to put the thorns under the blanket And Fletcher had asked if they were following the same route—which meant the steep trail over the ridge. There was the other incident when Max had nearly fallen and Fletcher hadn't helped to save him. And the incident with the rattlesnake back at the ranch.
"But why?" Brig muttered tightly under his breath. Why would Fletcher want him dead? A person like Max could never be a threat to a man like him. It made no sense. A puzzled and angry frown creased his forehead.
There was Jordanna. What part did she have to play in all this? Fletcher had given orders for her to be nice to him. Why? Pain squeezed at his chest. Was it tied up with this—Max's death? Was she a diversion to keep him from becoming suspicious? This morning, she had waylaid him with coffee, and kept him talking while Fletcher helped Tandy with the horses. Brig had to clench his jaw tightly to keep the anguished groan from tearing out of his throat. The words she had said that morning came back to him like a knife slicing into •his heart: Why did you save him? Wouldn't you be better off if he wasn't around? He forced his mind to concentrate on the lost shoe on the pinto horse, which began to take on a suspicious light.
Max's death had been murder—made to look like an accident. But how could he prove it? He couldn't. Tandy had had access to the bay. As far as that went, he had access himself. Lord knew, that of all the hunting party, he had more motive for killing his cousin than anyone else. Had that been planned, too? Brig had wondered why Fletcher had chosen him as a guide over the many professionals. His reasons had sounded so logical, if a little weak. But Brig had needed the money too badly to ask many questions. Fletcher had probably counted on that.
It had been a set-up from the beginning And he was the patsy, the fall guy. If the accident was uncovered as a murder, he had the motive, the opportunity, and the means. Who were the witnesses? Fletcher, his son, and daughter—all supposedly innocent observers. Brig realized that if he opened his mouth, he might be putting his own neck in a noose. He had to have some kind of proof against Fletcher ... a motive.
He had never really liked or respected Max. Brig didn't pretend to feel any grief at his death. But to condone murder simply because he didn't like his cousin? No. He wasn't about to let Fletcher get by with it.
"I've got that salve from Jocko. " Tandy came hurrying through the rain. "And some rags and warm water to wash the grit out of his wounds. "
"Take care of him then. " Brig moved away from the bay, slipping the thorned twig into his pocket.
Tandy crouched beside the horse's front feet and began gently bathing the scraped flesh. Brig walked over to the three remaining packhorses and wiped the moisture from their backs before putting on the pads and packsaddles.
"We're two horses short. What are we going to do?" Tandy asked.
"We'll have to distribute gear to the riders. Everyone will have to carry his own duffle, and anything else that the packstring can't handle. We don't have any choice. "
"What about Jughead? He ain't going to be in fit enough condition to travel. " The horse pulled away from the picket line as the soapy water Tandy was washing his legs with stung its raw flesh.
"We'll have to turn him loose. Pull the shoes off the pinto, too. They'll follow us for awhile. Eventually they'll make their way back to the ranch. " The fate of two horses was the least of Brig's concerns at the moment. "Have you noticed any thorn bushes around?"
"Thorn bushes?" Tandy looked up with a frown.
"Yes, thorn bushes. Or berry bushes, " Brig repeated with marked patience. "Have you noticed any?"
"Not that I recall, but I wasn't exactly looking for them either. Why?"
"It's not important" Brig shrugged. "Are any of those scrapes serious?"
"No, but they're gonna be sore as hell. " The horse kicked at Tandy and tried to bite him. "Settle down!" Tandy yelled and hit the bay in the belly with his fist I'm trying to help you, you old crowbait nag! You deserve all this pain for buckin' on that slope and getting a man killed. " The horse snorted and stood stock- still, intimidated by the roaring voice more than the blow. "Do you reckon the authorities will want to see Jughead, him being the horse that throwed Max and all?"
"I don't know. But we can't very well take him along. He'd slow us up too much. " Brig adjusted the packsaddle on the last horse and tightened the cinch. "If they want him, they'll have to come look for him. "
"I s'pose you're right" Tandy sighed. "Damn, but it's a lousy day. "
Brig walked to the buckskin and stripped off its protective blanket to step into the saddle. There was a nagging doubt in his mind and he knew he wouldn't rest until it was satisfied.
The stocky cowboy glanced up. "Where are you going?"
"To check something. I won't be long. "
The buckskin made little sound as Brig walked him through the trees and the rain-soaked carpet of needles. Deliberately he avoided riding through the camp, skirting it widely before picking up the trail that led to the switchback. The whispering rain continued to fall Brig walked the horse slowly, stopping every now and then to search the trail on either side for thorn bushes. There was little undergrowt
h along the trail. The area around the switchback was devoid of any at all Brig dismounted, dropping the reins to groundhitch his horse. He walked the churned earth where the bay had first started acting up, and followed its route to the patches of talus. Halfway down, he saw an object that didn't belong in its surroundings. It was a leather wallet, half-covered by the loose rock. Brig picked it up and slipped it into his jacket pocket, opposite the one that contained the briar. A last scan of the area convinced him he hadn't been wrong There wasn't a thorn bush, a briar patch, or a clump of berry bushes to be found.
A rolling whicker came from the buckskin as Brig walked back to it He absently rubbed the wet nose the horse thrust toward him and walked to its left side to mount. His features were grim and hard as he turned the horse toward camp.
Brig had intended to turn off the trail and skirt the camp area itself again. Before he reached that point, he saw a yellow-slickered figure at the head of the trail. It was Fletcher. Brig rode the buckskin directly toward camp. Fletcher's expression was smoothly controlled to show only mild interest.
"Where have you been?" he asked.
"I went back over the trail, " Brig admitted.
"Why?"
He reached in his pocket and took out the billfold. "I remembered that Max didn't have his wallet on him. I went back to look for it" His hard expression was equally bland.
"Tandy said you were turning the bay horse loose to make his own way home. "
"That's right. " Brig stopped the buckskin and leaned forward to rest his forearms on the saddle horn, the rain dripping off his hat. "By tomorrow morning, that horse will be so stiff he probably won't be able to do much more than hobble. He'll come to the ranch when he's able. " He looked Fletcher in the eye. "I don't think the authorities will be particularly interested in seeing him. After all, it was just an unfortunate accident. "
"Yes. Yes, it was, " Fletcher nodded with a show of sorrow. "I offered to ride the bay this morning. I was afraid he was more horse than Max could handle, but he wouldn't hear of it Now... " he sighed. "Now, he's dead. "
Brig tossed the wallet to Fletcher and the saddle creaked as he straightened in the stirrups. "Have Jocko put that with Max's things. "
"I will. "
Clicking to the buckskin, Brig reined the horse around the man in the path and trotted it through camp to the picket lines. The tents were already struck and two of the packhorses were being loaded.
Within an hour they had left. They rode until twilight before making camp that night No one talked much, communicating only when it was necessary. The camp was crude, consisting of two lean-to's. The slanted canvas roof was supported by two poles in front and weighted to the ground in back with heavy rocks, forming a shelter from the steady drizzle. After supper, it was a somber group that sat huddled under the lean-to near the fire. Jordanna was one of the first to call it a night and crawl into her sleeping bag fully clothed. The others gradually followed her lead one by one until only Brig was left at the fire. Jordanna rolled onto her side and watched the dancing shadows cast on the canvas by the flickering fire. Her eyelids seemed heavily weighted. She closed them.
Sleep was a welcome escape. Then the dream began. She was on the slope again, watching the bay horse wildly trying to pitch its rider. It was rearing over backwards and Max was falling. Inexplicably, the dream changed. Jordanna became the one rolling down the incline. She fought the nightmarish image, telling herself she was dreaming and making the person become Max again. But it kept switching. First it was Max; then it was herself. Back and forth. Back and forth. The moment came when her mind couldn't force it back. She was tumbling to the edge, swept by the torrent of loose shale. She was going to fall to her death.
Something touched her shoulder and Jordanna grabbed for it blindly to keep from slipping over the precipice. But that something started shaking her hard, demanding that she wake up. The palm of her wildly flailing hand was stabbed by a sharp object The pain snapped her awake.
Brig was bent over her. Jordanna was drenched in a cold sweat and shaking uncontrollably. The vividness of the nightmare clung to her. Not fully cognizant of what she was doing, Jordanna sat up and threw her arms around his neck in panic, needing the comfort of his hard arms. She wasn't aware of his hesitation before his arms circled around her wildly trembling body to hold her close. He picked her up and carried her to the fire, as if its heat could warm the cold terror within.
"I h-had this dream, " Jordanna tried to explain, stammering in a frightened whisper. She had to talk about it to end its possession of her mind. "I was falling down that slope. It w-was supposed to be Max, but it... kept turning into me. "
"It's over. " The hard, flat statement offered no comfort other than the truth.
Her face was buried against his heavy parka, trimmed and lined with sheepskin. It smelled of dampness, horses, and smoke. Mixed in with the pungent combination was an elusive, musky scent of a man. Jordanna tried to control her gulping, agitated breathing, but it was hard to do when her pulse was leaping so wildly. She turned to rest a cheek against his jacket. Becoming conscious of the stinging pain in her palm, she lifted her hand. Blood was trickling from two small wounds. She wiped it on the sleeve of her heavy blouse, trying to figure out how she had hurt herself.
"You'll never be able to wipe the blood from your hands, Jordanna. " Brig's voice was low, pitched at an ominous level.
It shivered down her spine. Drawing away from the support of his solid chest, Jordanna looked into his face. The wide brim of his hat cast brooding shadows on his roughly chiseled features. The dark line of his full-broomed mustache looked even darker and more forbidding. The searing dryness and contempt in his dusty brown eyes was oddly menacing. Alarm skipped through her pulse.
"W-Why would you say a thing like that?" Jordanna was confused, angry, and a little bit frightened.
"What part is yours in this, Jordanna?" he continued in the same vein.
"In what?" She shook her head in blankness.
"Max's death. "
"I don't know what you're talking about!" She pushed out of his arms and rose to her feet in agitation. The cold mountain air was making vapor clouds out of her breath. Jordanna shivered from the combination of cold without and cold within. She rubbed her hands over her arms to get rid of the chill, aware that Brig was on his feet as well. His accusing attitude intimidated her because of a nagging self-guilt. She tried to deny it. "You are insane, Brig"
He caught her arm and spun her around, his grip bruising the soft flesh of her arms. "Why did you do it, Jordanna?" he demanded savagely. "Why?"
Part of her cringed from his glowering expression, but she faced him boldly. "I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about Now, please let me go. You are hurting me, "
His answer was to jerk her hard against him and enfold her in a bone-crushing hold that threatened to snap her ribs. Her lungs had no room to expand and take a breath, and his mouth smothered her lips in brutal possession. The assault exposed the ruthless core of violence in him. Shaken by it, Jordanna weakly fought the blackness swimming at the edges of her consciousness. She couldn't breathe. He was crushing the life from her and she couldn't stop him. Her mind reeled toward the black void.
Then, as violently as he had taken her, Brig released her, almost throwing her away from him. Jordanna staggered backwards, fighting for balance and breath. His eyes were hard on her whitened face.
"Go to bed, " he growled through his teeth. "Get out of my sight!"
Eyeing him warily, she stumbled to her sleeping bag and hurried inside to its warmth. She was shaking as violently as after the nightmare. His brutality had turned him into a stranger—one with intimate knowledge of her. Jordanna shuddered and curled into a tight ball.
PART THREE: THE STALK
Chapter 18
Pausing, Brig glanced at his reflection in the large-paned window of the bar front. He hadn't slept much in the last two nights. He hadn't bothered to shave that morning. He looked hagg
ard and tired, and he damn well felt that way, too.
After he had reported Max's death, he'd made arrangements for the body to be shipped to New York. The authorities had seemed willing to accept his account of the accident with few questions. They would be talking to Fletcher, Jordanna, and Kit to corroborate it, but Brig had no doubt that they would. The thorn-covered briar was still in his pocket, needling him with its pressure as surely as if it were against his skin.
Staring at the Coors sign, Brig wondered what had prompted him to arrange to meet the three "witnesses" here Lord knew, he wanted a drink badly to burn out the savage bitterness in his throat. But it wouldn't do anything to ease the hot ache in his stomach.
With a burst of impatience, he walked to the door and pushed it open. His long, lazy strides made scuffling thuds on the hard floor as he crossed the room to the counter bar. The place was dim and empty of customers at this hour of the day. Brig walked to the shadowed corner at the end of the bar.
The bleached blonde had laid her cigarette down when he entered, her face lighting up as she recognized him. "Brig! It's been so long since I've seen you. " Her greeting came out in a sweet rush of pleasure.
"Hello, Trudie. " Brig tried to sound pleasant, but the words came out terse and lacking warmth. He sat down on the last stool, hooking a heel on a metal crossbar and resting a boot on the tarnished brass footrail. Taking off his hat, he set it on the drink-stained countertop and tiredly combed his fingers through his hair.
"You look like you've been through the mill. " Trudie had moved to his end of the bar. "What happened? Did you lose your razor?" she joked.
"I had other things on my mind this morning. " He rubbed the dark stubble on his jaw. The stiff growth made a rasping sound against his calloused skin.
"Where have you been?"
"I just spent the last two weeks in the mountains. " Brig didn't elaborate. He didn't want to talk about the hunting party or Max's death. In order to make the arrangements to have the body sent back to New York, he'd had to identify himself as a cousin. The news would spread through the small community fast. Thankfully, the notification of Max's ex-wife and children was being taken care of through legal channels and Brig hadn't needed to assume responsibility for that.