Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series)

by Kimberli A. Bindschatel

I shot Dalton a look. What’d I do?

  Dalton shrugged. This guy was an enigma.

  Another five hundred yards, we reached the top of a rise where he’d set up the spike camp. The area, about fifteen by twenty feet, was surrounded by an electric fence, a necessity in bear country. The fencing consisted of four wires, each about twelve or so inches apart, stretched between wooden posts, the top wire at eye level.

  I dropped my pack and breathed hard to catch my breath.

  “Don’t tell me that little stroll got you winded,” Rocky said, his eyes challenging me. “Maybe I’ve misjudged you. The bear I was planning to—”

  “I’m fine,” I said. I pointed to the fence. “That’s quite the corral. Is that really necessary?”

  “If you want to sleep.”

  The entry gate was simply the spot where each of the four strands of electric wire had a plastic handle to grab ahold and unhook from where it connected. He unhooked each, motioned for us to enter, then followed us through and set down all his gear. Without a word, he turned right around and headed down the hillside toward a copse of alders in the valley, leaving the gate open.

  This lack of communication thing was annoying. “Where’s he going?”

  Dalton shrugged with a look of resignation. It was what it was. We were here, with this guy, for a hunt. We’d smile, act our part, then go home.

  Moments later Rocky appeared pulling a wagon with a plastic storage box mounted on top. Smart. The electric fence was probably not visible from the air, if there was even air patrol of the park here. I’d have to check on that. But hiding some gear and not having to carry it in every time made it awfully convenient.

  He wheeled the cart into camp, then snapped the electric lines back into place to reconnect. “Can’t be too cautious in bear country,” he said with an actual grin. He flipped open the lid, reached in, and pulled out a box. “This here’s the battery. I’ll get that hooked up right away, then we’ll get a fire going and grill up your dinner. That sound good?”

  I gave him a smile. Sure, now he’s all chatty.

  Dalton pointed at the battery. “Do you need a hand with that?”

  Rocky gave no response, as if Dalton wasn’t there at all. His eyes on me, he said, “Can you pitch a tent?”

  “Of course,” I said. I think I liked him better as the sulking, quiet type.

  Dalton and I got to work setting up camp. There were only two tents, so that meant Dalton and I would be together. In the same tent. Don’t think about it. Lying next to each other—don’t think about it!

  We stashed the guns and ammo in the plastic storage box to keep them dry and the rain had let up in time for us to get a fire going, though fresh ptarmigan wasn’t something I thought I could stomach.

  Rocky skewered the ptarmigan breasts and propped them over the fire. Then he stood a flimsy tripod over that, hung from it a pot he’d pulled from the storage box, filled it with water and a packet of soup from his bag.

  We sat in the wet grass around the fire on our rain jackets, eating the warm soup from coffee mugs in silence as the sky grew darker and the meat slowly browned.

  The plane looked tiny, resting on the placid lake. The shoreline where we’d come ashore was hidden from this view, far below us, but why would that be a problem? Why was Rocky concerned about the plane being out of sight? Bears wouldn’t bother it, would they?

  The fog had completely cleared and I could make out part of the route we’d taken up the hillside. A line of trees marked the gorge we’d crossed, now a dark slit amid the lush green. The rest of the hillside, yellow and green, muted into gray.

  If it weren’t for Rocky, I’d be content to be here, camping in the great outdoors, even though rainclouds lingered on the horizon, hiding any hint of the sunset.

  When I finished the last of my soup, Rocky rinsed all the mugs in a small plastic tub, then walked several yards outside the fence to dump the rinse water. When he returned, he tucked everything away in the plastic storage box, then plopped back down by the fire, turning the meat. “We have enough daylight for one hunt a day. We’ll set out at first light,” he said. His eyes fell on me. “Are you ready?”

  My throat started to constrict. “We already flipped a coin. My brother gets to go first.”

  He shook his head, his gaze locked on me like a tiger’s. “I made a plan and you’ll follow it.”

  An awkward moment passed before Dalton shrugged. “Fine with me.”

  “What the hell was that?” I whispered in Dalton’s ear as we lay in the tent.

  He shifted to whisper in mine. “I don’t know. He’s odd, that’s for sure. But we have to play this out. Remember what you told Joe.”

  “I know,” I said and pulled away from him. What am I going to do?

  He moved closer. His breath hot on my neck, he said, “I’ll be right there with you.”

  “He could be right outside the tent, listening to us,” I whispered.

  Dalton pressed his lips right to my ear. “I know. That’s why I’m so close.”

  His warm body next to mine, snuggled up like a spoon, made me shiver.

  “Are you cold?” he asked and inched closer to me.

  “No. Yes. I mean, yes I’m cold.” Dammit.

  He put his arm over me and snugged me closer, all warm and strong and…too close.

  I stiffened and tried to control my breathing. This thing with Dalton was getting too—

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes.” No! Get your head on straight, McVie. I drew in a long breath. Maybe Dalton had a real thing for me. Maybe not. But he was a professional. He wasn’t going to cross the line. Ever. He and I both knew what that would mean. The end of our careers. Yep, he was off-limits. End of story.

  So why did I want so badly to roll over and—

  “I know it’s your first time. But we talked about this. It’s part of the job.”

  “Huh? Yeah, I know.” Shut up about the hunting already.

  “And I’ve got your back. Remember? Partner?”

  I nodded. Partner. That’s what we were. Partners.

  “Just get some sleep,” he whispered and smoothed my hair across my ear.

  Sleep? Are you kidding? With your body pressed against me? Poaching I could handle. But hiding my feelings for Dalton, well, that was another story.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Gear up,” Rocky said after I’d scarfed down an energy bar and half a mug of coffee. He tossed me a bag of trail mix. “We’ve got a hike to get there.”

  “I’m ready,” I said, stuffing the bag in my pocket.

  A clear sky promised a warm, sunny day even though I could see my breath as I got my things ready to go. The sun was already bathing the landscape in pastel orange and there was no rain. The air was crisp and puffs of vapor rose from the surface of the lake. A dusting of snow had fallen on the mountain tops in the night and the highest peaks stood out like white beacons on the horizon.

  Dalton handed me my rifle and slung his over his shoulder. We both had daypacks with water, snacks, and emergency gear.

  Rocky had repacked his own gear and now carried a backpack, I assume with the tools to skin a bear, a knapsack, his rifle and crossbow, and now, a sidearm on his belt. He looked at me, said “Keep up,” and set out.

  We trekked over the hill, down into a ravine choked with knee-high brush bearing yellow leaves covered in tiny, shimmering beads of dew that soaked our pants and socks. The smell of wet moss—that distinct scent of autumn—was in the air. After we climbed another rise, we finally stopped for a break. Rocky gave us about forty-five seconds to gulp from our water bottles before pushing on again.

  I thought of myself as being in pretty good shape, but this man was inhuman. With all the gear he carried, he didn’t break a sweat.

  Finally, he slowed as we approached an open valley, wide and dotted with patches of alder. He moved to a moss-covered boulder that stood to my waist and dropped his backpack beside it. “Stay here, armed and aler
t,” he said and disappeared down the slope.

  “What the hell?” I said to Dalton once Rocky was out of earshot.

  “The guy thinks he’s Rambo.” Dalton crossed his arms and shook his head. “He’s probably going to crawl into a bear den and wrestle him into submission.”

  “Rambo is right. Damn, he’s fit. He moves like a machine.”

  “Ex-military maybe? Did you notice how he blouses his pants? And the way he wears his cap?” He smirked. “I bet he was a Ranger wash-out.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, he wouldn’t have made it as a SEAL.”

  “Right,” I said, shaking my head. “Men.”

  Dalton shifted his stance, standing a little taller. “Hey, it’s not that. SEALs have a code. You’re part of a team, something greater.” His eyes scanned the area where Rocky had gone. “That guy’s a lone wolf.”

  I stared at Dalton. Wasn’t that what Mr. Martin had said about me? A lone wolf? I was a problem because I go my own way, make my own decisions? Well, not this time. I was going to do my job, just like I was supposed to. Rocky was tracking the bear. Like Dalton said, he’d find it. He’d do anything it takes. There was big money at stake. And when he came back, I’d have to cross a line I never thought I would.

  My throat thickened and my hands started to shake.

  Dalton was watching me. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

  I held the rifle in my hands, ran my finger along the trigger. My dad’s voice came to my mind. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like. In the vision that came with it, I was sitting in front of a plate of broccoli. I smiled at the memory.

  “What are you thinking about?” Dalton asked.

  “It’s funny, the things that pop into your head. My dad, he…” My hand went to the bracelet my dad had given me.

  “Poppy, I know you believe your dad was killed by poachers and we’re here—”

  “I don’t believe. I know.”

  He held up his hands. “I understand. I’m not saying he wasn’t. My point is, being here, well, how are you doing?”

  The weird thing was, I hadn’t thought of my father again until now, what with my job on the line and the fiasco on the plane. But now all those feelings rushed in. “You don’t know the whole story. That file, it paints a picture of my dad that isn’t accurate. Like he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not true. My dad had a purpose, a reason. He was passionate about what he did. Maybe he didn’t know the extent of the danger he was in, but that doesn’t make him an idiot.”

  Dalton nodded in understanding.

  “An idealist, surely, but—” I sucked in my breath. My gaze locked on Dalton.

  He stared back at me, his eyes filled with compassion.

  I turned away. Dammit. “I’m not my dad.”

  “Okay,” Dalton said. A whisper.

  I spun back to face him. “It’s not the same anyway.”

  “I know.”

  I can’t shoot a bear.

  Dalton nodded, acceptance in his expression as though he’d read my mind.

  My gaze shifted to the horizon, away from this conversation, these thoughts. “Where is that guy, anyway?”

  “God knows,” Dalton said with a shake of his head.

  About twenty awkward minutes or so passed, me pacing, Dalton examining his cuticles, before we spotted Rocky coming over the hill.

  Once he got within earshot, he said, “No sign of him in that direction. But I’m going to find him for you, darlin’. You’ll see. I’m going to check to the west. You just sit tight. Be ready.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  As soon as he was gone again, I turned to Dalton. “Darlin’?”

  Dalton stared after him, a look of concern on his face.

  “Dalton?”

  “Huh?” He turned. “Yeah?”

  “Darlin’?”

  He just shrugged and shook his head. As soon as Rocky was out of sight again, Dalton said, “Check it out,” pointing to a spot along the ridge.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Great,” I said as he moseyed away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  As Dalton wandered away, I followed his backside, that nice, tight—knock it off! I spun around and looked out over the landscape in the other direction, took a deep breath, then slowly turned back toward Dalton.

  About two hundred yards away he’d come to a halt. He gave me a wave with a nod. Whatever that meant. Then he seemed to be picking leaves from some bushes. No, he was picking berries.

  About ten minutes later, he came back with a handful of blueberries.

  “There’s a whole patch of them over there,” he said with a boyish grin as he took my hand in his and filled it with plump berries.

  At his touch, I felt my cheeks turn pink. Dammit!

  I tossed a few of the berries into my mouth and squished them against my tongue, enjoying the sweet and tangy taste. “Thanks,” I managed, facing the other way so he couldn’t see my cheeks. How embarrassing. You’d think I was ten and he was my first crush.

  “I don’t know where Rocky went, but any self-respecting bear in the area will be by to hit that patch of berries,” Dalton said. “The branches are drooping with them.”

  I could only nod. That grin had left me tongue-tied.

  Another four hours passed as Dalton and I leaned against the boulder, talking about nothing, my nerves on a razor’s edge, before Rocky appeared again. As he approached, he didn’t have the same vigor in his stride.

  “I know there’s a trophy bear in these parts. I’ve seen him. I’ve tracked him. I ain’t lyin’.” He paced, wringing his hands. “I’ll find him for sure tomorrow.”

  Relief flooded over me, but I did my best to look disappointed.

  “I won’t let you down. I swear it. I’m gonna get you your bear, ya hear me?”

  I managed a reassuring nod. “It’s all right. We’ve got several more days, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah. But I’ll find him tomorrow. You wait and see. Tomorrow.”

  He was so apologetic, I almost felt bad. Almost.

  Rocky marched back to camp without another word. Once inside the fence, he dropped his pack and weapons in a pile, flipped open the lid of the box, and stomped back and forth, hanging his head as he built a fire.

  He hung the pot over the flames and attacked the soup packaging, ripping it open with his knife, then shook the contents into the pot, crumpled the bag and tossed it to the ground.

  Dalton and I watched in silence, avoiding any interaction, fearing it might irritate him even more.

  Once the soup was ready, he dished it out, handing us the mugs without eye contact.

  Pushing his issues from my mind, I wrapped my hands around the mug of soup, enjoying the warmth, and inhaled the Asian-spiced scent of the broth. When I drank it down, nothing had ever tasted as good. Something about being out all day in the fresh air, the physical exertion, that makes anything with nourishment and extra salt taste heavenly.

  While we ate, Rocky poured over a map and journal, his notes, I assumed, from his scouting expeditions to find bears. He probably kept accounts of every sighting, every direction, time of day, trying to understand the habits of any particular bear. Like Dalton had said, there was big money on the table.

  After Rocky had rinsed our dishes and packed up camp for the night, he headed for his tent. He unzipped the fly, and without turning to face me, he said, “Tomorrow. I’ll prove myself to you tomorrow,” and crawled in.

  The next morning, we set out again for the same boulder. With the same strategy, Rocky left us alone to track the bear.

  Dalton whispered to me. “I hope he brings in a bear today. I’m not sure what he’ll do if he doesn’t.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” I said, but if I was honest, I’d rather have had to deal with a disgruntled Rocky than have to kill a bear. I was content to lean against that rock next to
Dalton, the sun on my face, and let the day slip away in uneventful bliss. But deep down, I knew it wouldn’t. I was going to have to face it. There was no crawling back out of the rabbit hole.

  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. What the holy hell am I going to do?

  About an hour later, Rocky appeared, coming up over the bluff, heading for us at a pretty good clip, shouting and gesturing for me to raise my weapon.

  Dalton turned toward me. “It’s time. You ready, Poppy?”

  My heart thrummed in my chest. I nodded and placed my rifle on the boulder, using it to steady myself.

  “Get ready,” Rocky said as he approached.

  No! No, no, no. “I was born ready.” My nerves buzzed up and down my arms.

  He looked at me from under his cap. “I mean be alert. Ready. He’s coming.” He said it in a creepy voice like we were in a Stephen King film. Man, these guys were all about the drama, the thrill.

  From his knapsack he pulled out some kind of remote control box that had a fancy joystick and a video monitor.

  A surge of anger rushed through me. This asshole had a drone.

  “Dude,” Dalton said with a full-fledged, dumbass-grin. “That is kick ass.”

  “Be ready,” Rocky warned, fiddling with the joystick.

  As soon as I heard the whir of the drone, the bear emerged on the hill across from us, about four hundred yards away, running full speed toward me, all muscle, fur and teeth. He could cover the distance between us in twenty seconds. My heart went into overdrive, sending adrenaline coursing through my veins. I swear I could hear my heartbeat vibrating against my eardrums. I gripped the rifle handle and told myself to breathe.

  Rocky worked the drone, steering it to dive-bomb the bear. The bear spun on it and reared up, swiping at it with his monster-sized paw. Rocky managed to work the drone just out of the bear’s reach, making him swat at it again and again, getting him frustrated and angry. All for the excitement, so a poacher could shoot a charging bear.

  “Ready?” Rocky said.

  I managed to nod, my finger on the trigger, shaking.

  The drone swooped downward and the bear started to chase it, but then turned. The drone zoomed upward, then swooped back downward toward the bear, making him run again. The bear took three strides, then dropped to the ground, spun around again, and roared. The bear’s rage rumbled down my spine.