I cracked the barrel to spring the empty shell, then loaded another round and did it again. Then again. Three right in the eye.
“Hold your fire,” Mark yelled.
Joe held the binoculars up to his eyes. “That’s my girl!”
“Impressive,” said John the lech, his eyes all heavy. What is it with these men? “What you got there? Some kind of canon?”
I held it up for him to examine, all proud. “This here’s the finest in bear-huntin’ weaponry.” With a wink, I added, “Don’t you go droolin’ on it, now.”
He ran his hand down the barrel. “That she is. Single-shot, eh?”
Single-shot weapons were an ego thing with big hunters. “When you only have one shot, make it count,” I said, rattling off the company slogan.
“Well, aren’t you something.”
Part of me thought I should drive it home, ask to see his gun, play up the sexual innuendo. But like Joe had taught me, sometimes less is more. I took the rifle from his hands, passed it to Dalton with a two-handed toss, John Wayne-style, then jerked my thumb toward the bullseye. “Beat that score, Brother,” I said and strutted downrange to put up a new target, knowing John watched my backside as I went.
Mark sauntered up to me, Rocky behind him like a shadow. “Nice shootin’ Tex.”
“Well, yeah, except I’m from Oklahoma.”
“Right,” he said, giving me a nod of respect. “I forgot.” He stuck his finger in the hole my bullets had left in the paper bullseye. “You put all three in the center. But can you do it to a bear?” His eyes locked onto me. “When you got yourself all in a froth of excitement?”
Froth of excitement? Seriously? “I didn’t start shooting yesterday.”
“Shooting, yeah. But when a bear is charging, bearing down on you, and adrenaline is pumping through your veins, your heart hammerin’ away in your chest, will Little Miss Sharpshooter hold that gun steady then?”
I eyed him, trying to get a read on him. Rocky hovered at his shoulder, standing at attention like a soldier, ready to serve.
“You make it sound like in the movies,” I said.
“That’s what you’re here for, ain’t ya?” Mark said with a sly grin. “The thrill? Like in the movies.”
I looked from Rocky to Mark and held his stare. Was that his pitch? “Well, yeah,” I said with a little too much smartass.
“Bear hunting isn’t for light-weights with soft hearts,” Mark said, taking a step closer to me. “You gotta be fierce.”
“I’m fierce.”
Rocky closed in on Mark’s flank.
“Sometimes, shit happens,” Mark said. “You’ve gotta be able to roll with it.”
“I can roll.”
Mark looked me up and down as though assessing my level of fortitude. I stared right back at him. “There are some mean, crafty beasts out there.”
Rocky added, his tone matter-of-fact, “Rip yer pretty little head off with a single swipe of the paw.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Are you trying to scare me? Cuz it ain’t working. I’m not some little girl afraid of breaking a nail. I’m taking home a bear. The bigger the better.” I glanced back toward Joe, who was watching every move without giving up that he was watching. “And I want a story to go with it.”
Mark’s lip curled up into a grin. “All right, little lady. I just might have the right one for you. One I’ve had my eye on. He’s a mean old bear. He won’t be taken easily. It will be extra work and the added danger—”
“No problem.” I gave him my high-and-mighty-princess face. “My daddy will pay.”
After cleaning our weapons and packing our gear for the backcountry, we were served a lunch, the portions sized for lumberjacks, during which I managed the art of keeping John and his brother Patrick interested with hunting tales laced with eyelash batting and winks. Then Mark took us all for a pontoon boat ride down the river.
I tuned out the hum of the engine and took in the scenery around me, the vast, awe-inspiring Alaskan landscape—a shoreline strewn with round rocks, tumbled smooth over eons of ice movement, granite hills at the river’s edge clad with dark green forest, evergreens overhanging a dense understory of alder and devil's club, that thorny weed with giant leaves that’s the bane of any hiker. A gentle mist hung amid the trees, a white swath, like cotton stretched across the treetops.
Eagles perched at regular intervals on the river, each claiming a territory. As we motored by, one lifted on his haunches and tipped forward, swooping from his branch, his great wings outstretched into a gentle glide toward the river’s surface. Then in an instant, he changed the angle of his wings, thrust his talons forward, and snatched a fish from the water. With three powerful flaps of his wings, he headed skyward again, back to his perch, his meal pierced by his talons.
The men didn’t say much as we motored down the river for several miles then finally came to a sandy spit. Mark drove the pontoons right up on shore and killed the engine.
“A short walk, my friends,” he said as he got up from the driver’s seat. He clipped a large can of pepper spray onto his belt, said, “Let’s stay together,” and led the way.
Seagulls scattered and took flight as the group walked down the shoreline, then up and over a ridge. Before us, a wide stream narrowed to a spot where the water tumbled over rocks into a natural pool, a place for salmon to gather before launching themselves into the air, hoping to clear the rocky barrier.
Three bears waded belly deep, their heads down, searching for fish. One saw something and pounced, the splash causing a wave to ripple across the pool. His entire head went underwater, but he came up empty, droplets of water clinging to his fur.
“Let’s keep our distance,” Mark said, holding up a hand, gesturing for us to stay put. “This is a good spot to watch.”
“Looks like a good spot to hunt,” said Patrick, crossing his arms.
“Nah. The big boys have moved on. These are the stragglers, picking off the last of the salmon. Just thought you might enjoy a little viewing. A preview, if you will.”
There was a rustle in the bushes above the falls. A bear with fur the color of amber poked her head out, then ambled toward the stream. Two spring cubs followed.
I fought to contain a smile as my insides tingled with delight.
The sow scanned the area, alert for trouble. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence. She was a big bear, bigger than the three in the pool, which were likely adolescents. I’d guess six hundred pounds. If she had raised up on her hind legs, I’d guess she stood eight feet tall.
She lumbered down the edge of the stream, taking her time, and as she entered the water, just above the falls, the three young bears hightailed it for the woods. There was no confrontation, no growling, no threat. Just the hierarchy of the animal kingdom. She was a bigger bear. It was her turn at the table.
Her cubs stayed at the edge of the water, watching their mother, their innocent brown eyes taking it all in.
“That’s a nice size one,” John said to Mark, as if to prove him wrong.
His brother elbowed him. “She’s got cubs, man.”
It’s illegal to take a sow with cubs, not to mention downright immoral. I harbored hope that even poachers wouldn’t cross that line. Roy, the weathered old agent I was assigned to during my probationary training always said, “You can hope in one hand and shit in the other. What have you got?” Pretty much sums it up.
The sow’s movements were slow and deliberate. No energy wasted. She had a long winter ahead and needed every pound of stored fat. So did her cubs. And feeding them was a big chore; they weren’t worried about conserving energy. The two wrestled and tumbled, romping around in circles, their awkward little legs moving them about. Round a tree stump they chased, one, then the other, changing direction. Mom glanced in their direction, a tolerant expression on her face.
I wanted to pick one up and cuddle it. They were so cute, all fluffy fur and pink bellies. Those little round ears must be so soft. But if I
even got close, it’d be the last thing I ever did. Mother bears were notoriously protective of their cubs. If she wanted to, she’d be on me within seconds. One swipe of her massive paw could rip my guts open. Rocky was right about that.
“Still,” John muttered. “That rug would look damn good in front of my fireplace.”
Patrick gave him a conspiratorial grin.
“And some little rugs in my den,” John muttered.
My throat burned with acid. His arrogance was astounding, not to mention his lack of ethics. All he could think about was killing, yet the bear was the one with the reputation of being a vicious killer. The bear stood not forty yards away, a distance she could cover in seconds, yet hadn’t given him a second look. She had no cause. We weren’t overtly threatening her or her cubs. For her, like all wild animals, fighting is a dangerous business. One doesn’t pick a fight without good reason.
The mama bear swatted her paw in the water, trying to stun a fish. She reared back and plunged in, coming up with a wriggling salmon in her mouth.
She plodded to the shore and plopped down, the salmon fighting a hopeless battle in her powerful jaws. She clamped her mighty paws around the fish and with her teeth, gripped it in the middle and ripped its skin off, all the way to the tail, revealing its pink flesh. The cubs circled round, whimpering for a bite.
Three gulls swooped in and danced about, squawking, trying to get a tidbit for themselves. The bear ripped off a mouthful, chewed sloppily as she kept a wary eye on her surroundings, always alert, then swallowed the precious protein and tore off another bite.
When the fish was gone, she waded into the pool again, milled around for some time, but found nothing. It was late in the year. Most of the salmon were gone. She gave up and hauled out, water pouring off of her, then shook, water spraying every which way.
At the river’s edge, she lay down in the grass, rolled over on her back, and let her cubs crawl atop her to nurse.
I couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth. I wanted to giggle with joy in seeing these bears, right in front of me, in their natural habitat, doing what bears do. I felt such wonder. I wanted to share it with Dalton, tell him about the awe I felt. But right now, my goal was to be someone else. Someone who didn’t care. Someone who only wanted to kill, to own, to conquer.
“We should have brought our guns,” I said and crossed my arms, like a bored, rich, gun-toting cowgirl.
Back at the dock, Rocky helped catch the pontoon boat and tie it up. Mark pulled Joe, Dalton and me aside while the other guests filed into the lodge. Rocky lingered behind him.
Mark addressed me. “We’ve talked and made a plan. Rocky has had his eye on a bear he thinks is just right for you. He’s set up a spike camp in the area. He’ll fly you out there.” He looked to Dalton, then back to me. “Your brother here can go, too. Back you up with that fancy single-shot rifle.” He cuffed me on the chin as if I were thirteen. “Just in case you’re all bark and no bite.”
I pushed out my lower lip. “Rocky? I thought you were the legend, the man to hunt with.” I couldn’t let him send me out with his sidekick. If that happened, the op would be over for me.
“Well, I wish I could take every client on every hunt, but I can’t be everywhere at once, now can I? Trust me. Rocky here will take real good care of you.”
This was my last chance. I had to be on the hunt with Mark. This was the moment. All or nothing. I needed to throw a class-A fit.
I glared at him, forcing my lips into a frown. “Seriously? This guy?” I said, jerking my thumb toward Rocky. “You said fierce. He doesn’t look that fierce.” I rammed my fists into my hips. “Give me a rope, I’ll drop him on his ass.” I turned to Joe. “Daddy, you told me I was gonna get the best. I don’t wanna go out with this—” I flicked a dismissive hand in the air “—this clown. He doesn’t even look like he’s smart enough to come in outta the rain.”
“It’s all right, Poppy,” Joe soothed. He turned to Mark, playing along. “Can’t we work something out? If it’s the cost—”
Mark held up a conciliatory hand. “Now, I understand your reservations. But trust me when I say, Rocky’s my best guide.” Rocky’s eyes never left the ground. “He’s got the highest kill rate of any I’ve ever worked with. You want to take home a trophy, he’s your man.” He slapped Joe on the back at the shoulder. “I know how it is. Everyone wants to go out with the owner. But believe me when I say, I only hire the best. That’s how I built my reputation. When you come to Moosepine Lodge, you go home with a trophy.” He rocked back on his heels, a smug smile on his face, satisfied that he’d been convincing. “Rocky’s been scouting all summer. He’s got his sights on the one for her. I’m telling you. Guaranteed. Your little lady won’t be disappointed.”
“But Daddy, you said—”
The look on Joe’s face silenced me. Better to back off than blow it. You can always come around for a second shot at ‘em if you keep the cover intact.
Maybe we’d been overly optimistic to think that the first time around Mark would take us out hunting himself. We’d have to play the game, bide our time, and book another trip next year. It made me want to scream bloody murder to let it ride for that long, but it was how the game was played.
I crossed my arms, filled with disappointment. “Fine.”
After dinner and the obligatory cocktails and all the pomp of huntsmen’s well wishes, we retired to our rooms. The plan was to meet in Joe and Dalton’s room for a strategic discussion and update.
I took my time washing my face and doing some stretching before sneaking across the hall. Dalton was leaning against the dresser in his casual way, his hair ruffled. Damn. Why does he have to be so good looking?
Joe sat down on the leather chair, always professional and serious. “So. This is how it is. He’s sending the two of you out with Rocky. The brothers are going together with someone named Bob.” He threw his hands up with a shrug. We hadn’t met anyone named Bob. “Maybe someone flying in? Anyway, Townsend’s taking the Germans out himself. I’ll be hunting with Jack. I tried to get him to combine the two groups, insisting I didn’t need one guide to myself, since he’ll have all five of the Germans, but he said he’d take his wife. He’s smart. He’s giving us the VIP treatment while simultaneously creating a situation with no witnesses for corroboration. Makes it awfully hard to nail him for poaching.”
“Okay, but what if Rocky or Jack takes one of us inside the park boundary?” I asked, grabbing for anything. “Can’t we cite Mark for knowingly promoting illegal hunting? I mean, he’s the boss here.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Joe said. “If an undercover agent acts as the hunter and makes the kill, they could claim entrapment. It wouldn’t be worth it. It’d be a slap on the wrist anyway. When we nail this guy, I want rock-hard evidence.”
“So we’re stuck here in an our-word-against-his scenario?”
Joe nodded. “We’ll have to play along, keep the cover, see if an opportunity arises.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Try again next year,” he said with the matter-of-fact tone of many years of experience.
“But we’ve come all this way.”
“I’m glad he’s sending me with you,” Dalton said to me. “There's something about Rocky. I don't like him.”
“This sucks,” I said, unable to contain my frustration. “Maybe I could talk to John and Patrick—”
“We don’t want to push too hard and blow it,” Joe said. “Stay the course.”
I nodded. He was the boss. I’d go with Rocky and play along. But that means—My heart started to race and my stomach turned sour.
Dalton moved to within my gaze. “Poppy, if you’re not sure—”
“I understand.”
A look passed between him and Joe.
“I understand my job.” I turned toward the door. “I’ll be ready. See you in the morning.” I needed some air, some space. I went straight down the stairs and out the front door int
o the dark night.
I pulled my jacket up around my neck and crossed my arms, snugging it tight. I wasn’t to the dock yet when I heard footsteps behind me. Dalton.
“You okay?”
“Fine. I just needed some fresh air.”
“Let’s walk,” he said and took me by the arm.
About forty yards down the shoreline, he turned to me and whispered, “Are you ready for this?”
“I said I was.” This again. “I understand the situation. For now, we play the game. And someday we’ll nail these guys. Somehow. Some way.”
He nodded and stood in silence for a time, his eyes on me. I couldn’t meet his gaze. He’d been trying to warn me. It was going to be just like he’d said.
We walked a little further.
“Could you believe John and Patrick today?” I said. “I wanted to smack their heads together and drop them on their asses.” I turned to face him. “You know what I’m going to do? When we do finally bust Townsend, I hope those two go down with him. I hope they make a plea deal. I’ll petition the judge to require community service from them.
“I want to see John standing in front of a school group, his ranger hat in his hand, telling the kids, ‘Bears aren’t vicious, savage beasts that stalk and kill humans like you might think. They’re highly intelligent beings. Surely smarter than I am.’
“Yeah, I’m going to ask the judge to let me write their whole script. His brother will stand beside him. ‘Humans aren’t on the menu,’ he’ll say. ‘But if a bear feels threatened, he’ll defend himself, and then make a meal out of the kill. That’s nature at work. The circle of life. The balance of prey and predator. The way it’s supposed to be.’ I’ll make sure the judge requires that last line. Every time. ‘The way it’s supposed to be.’”
“Poppy?”
“I know.” I plopped down on the rocks and pulled my knees up to my chest. “I know.” I swallowed and drew in a breath. “You’re assuming Rocky will even bring in a bear. The odds are—”
“The odds are good. He’s a poacher. He’ll do anything it takes. There’s big money at stake.”
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 42