With a heavy sigh I said, "Okay, no peaking."
"No, I meant...no peaking?"
I remember thinking...
She stirred next to him and then a deep inhale and said, "Good morning. Whatchya writing?"
"I'm a writer. I write."
She rolled over to her side and crawled up and gave Mitch a peck on the cheek. She took the Moleskin from him. He didn't fight it. "You're writing about us."
"Is that okay?"
"It is extra okay. Can something be extra okay?"
Mitch took the Moleskin back and wrote after "...I remember thinking...extra okay." He showed it to her, and she giggled.
If there were a better moment in all of recorded history, Mitch would be hard pressed to believe it topped that one right then.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Chapter Twenty-One
The helicopter ride from Anchorage to Chisana was smooth. Mitch and S. spent most of the time taking photos. When they touched down, Amber-Lee was waiting for them.
Mitch had followed her blog for a couple of years. He had left comments and she always replied. It was great to meet for the first time, but it felt like they were old friends.
As soon as they were in the air, Amber-Lee gave an overview of all they could do while on their adventure. "We've planned a great week for you, but, if anything strikes you, we can always figure out a way to make it happen."
S. said, "I'm really looking forward to the horses and fresh air."
Amber-Lee asked, "Have you ridden before?"
"A little, but it was pretty well controlled."
"Our horses are workers. They are range horses. We'll go over some safety tips in the morning, but I think you'll find them enjoyable.'
Mitch asked, "How do they feel about hugs? I'm likely going to want to hug." Mitch heard himself talking. It didn't seem to fit with the mysterious persona he was trying to craft, but the excitement of the trip was more than he could stand. The little boy in him won the day.
Amber-Lee laughed, "To be truthful, they are probably a bit ambivalent about them, but I think we can find you one that doesn't mind."
The look on S.' face said he hadn't hurt his stock too badly, and there might have even been the slightest uptick. "I like hugs, too," she said.
Amber-Lee smiled, "When we get to the lodge, we'll get you settled into a cabin for the night. Dinner should be ready within an hour or so of landing. It is served family style, so you'll get to meet everyone. The days are still pretty long, so if you want to look around after dinner there will be plenty of time. We also have games..."
Mitch asked, "Scrabble?"
"Scrabble is a favorite around here."
S. said, "I will so kick your butt in Scrabble, word boy."
"Do you know your "q" words that don't require a 'u'?"
She gave him a sly look and said, "Qwerty."
"That's one."
Amber-Lee said, "It sounds like we've got a real battle brewing."
S. pulled up her camera and said, "Wow, look at that." The trash talking would have to wait until nature stopped being so lovely. The plane banked and the view improved.
There were clicks and laughs a plenty and the flight seemed to be over before it started.
With the help of some of the staff, Mitch and S. had their stuff in the cabin in one trip. The help was appreciated, because it gave them some time to sit on the red bench and marvel at the snowcapped mountains peaking above the green of the forest.
It was a warm evening, just a hair over sixty degrees. They sat and held hands, and neither felt the need to fill the silence. Mitch felt her wiggle into him a little. He put his arm around her.
Of all the daydreams of what it might be like to sit on a bench and hold her hand, he had never imagined them in Alaska. There were fantasies in Paris or New York; one that had them in Japan; and another in Moscow, but they were almost always centered around dancing and nightlife.
Mitch wasn't even into the clubbing scene, but he imagined it was what she liked, so he inserted himself as a character in her world. The stories always began with some sort of amazing string of coincidences in which the two ran into each other. She would be fresh off a terrible break up with a guy named Chip, and he would be there for the rebound.
Mitch never had imagined this. A Facebook message, two lunches, and a dinner that ended in drinks at a small pub led to a bout of alcohol-infused optimism and him making his move. It had worked.
She hadn't just been dumped; he hadn't taken a bullet from a terrorist; and he hadn't saved her and a puppy from certain death by a run-away trolley. There didn't seem to be any explanation, but here he was, actually holding onto twenty-five years of daydreams and wishes.
The clanging of the dinner bell woke him from his distant musings and brought him back to the real dream he was living. She popped to her feet and said, "I'm famished. Let's eat...then we Scrabble!"
"Can Scrabble be used as a verb?"
"I think I just proved that it can."
"That you did."
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Chapter Twenty-Two
The after-dinner coffee was followed by a pre-Scrabble beer. That finished, Amber-Lee brought out the Scrabble board and said, "I believe you two have a battle royale planned?"
Mitch asked, "Will you join us?"
"I've still got a few things to check on; you two have fun."
Mitch offered the bag of tiles and S. drew first. She laid down an "r." Mitch drew an "m" and said, "You're first."
Mitch got them a couple more beers as she pulled her tiles. She handed him the bag and asked, "What are the stakes?"
"I had no idea you were a gambling woman."
She got up and looked around. There were staff, and Amber-Lee's children were within ear shot. She whispered something into his ear. Mitch said, "And if I win?"
"I'll leave that up to your imagination."
"Agreed."
After forty-five minutes, Mitch caught her bluffing. She assumed he was trying to pull a fast one on the next turn and grabbed the Scrabble dictionary for a challenge. She lost.
A few plays later, Mitch had a sixty-two point lead until she played "quip" and landed the "q" on a double letter for a total of twenty-six. "What's the score now?"
Mitch added her last play and said, "I'm at 258, and you've got 222. Not an insurmountable deficit, but I feel good about my chances."
"Don't count your imaginary winnings before they're hatched."
Mitch said, "I, n, g, r, e, s, and the blank tile is an s, for ingress. That's fourteen plus fifteen for quips, so the score is now 287 to 222." Mitch drew out his tiles and shook the bag. "Not many left."
Amber-Lee came in and asked, "How's the game?"
Mitch said, "What we have here is a good, old-fashioned butt whooping."
As she laid down her tiles, S. said, "It really is. Now, let's see, I have an 'x.'" She set it next to the "i" on the top row of the board.
"Xi, good word..."
"Oh, that isn't my word." She placed "ness" after it.
"I don't think that is a word."
"I'm not done," she said with a wry smile. "There we go, 'sexiness.' Two triple word scores, and I used all my tiles, so, if I'm not mistaken, that is 146 points."
Mitch laughed. "Just like I said, a good, old-fashioned butt whooping. She is beating me 366 - 288."
Amber-Lee said, "What a comeback!"
Mitch said, "I threw down an entry, and she walked in with her sexiness and beat me to a pulp."
S. said, "This isn't my first rodeo."
Amber-Lee said, "That's why God gave us sexiness."
Mitch said, "Lesson learned."
Two more plays and the tiles were gone. The final score was 382 - 292. Amber-Lee said, "That was quite a game."
S. said, "Yes, and now I intend to collect on our little bet."
Amber-Lee said as she walked off, "Well, don't let it keep you up too late."
#
Paul's
first two days in the wilderness had worn him a little thin. His second day of target practice was better, though he wasn't approaching good. He and the Pepsi can had been getting along well. Pepsi had been promoted to Sergeant.
"Sergeant Pepsi, I have to say the practice went better today. I think I'll need a few million more rounds to really master it."
The Pepsi can looked at him with what he considered a rebuff.
"I know I need to be patient. What has really gotten under my skin is where Mitch has gone. Did he all of a sudden switch to cash?"
Sergeant Pepsi didn't think so or at least that was the impression he gave with his silence.
"What if he died? That would suck." Paul did a quick Google News search and didn't find anything about Mitch's sudden demise. "Okay, Sarge, he isn't dead, so where is he? He hasn't tweeted in a couple of days and there aren't any Facebook updates. I mean, look at this," he said and brought the Pepsi can over to get a better view.
"His posts dropped off right about the time that..."
Pepsi seemed nonplussed and bordered on completely uninterested.
"You know, I've been going about this all wrong. I need to find out who that woman was at the restaurant." Having hacked Mitch's Facebook account, he logged on and started to run through the friends list. There were hundreds. It wasn't until he was near the end of the list that he spotted her.
"That's her!"
The Pepsi can was impressed.
The wheels in his head started whirring about like a new hard drive. Using Mitch's list of friends would let him connect Mitch to the murders more easily. He still needed to make sure that Mitch wasn't someplace that would provide an alibi, but this gave him another element to consider. It didn't matter what Mitch was doing right now; he would turn up and get back into a routine. Paul could then begin methodically spinning the web that would ruin Mitch's life.
It didn't take long to see who kept the closest eye on his FB page - Mitch's virtual stalkers as it were. He listed the top five names and began to research them. One of the five was the woman he had seen at the restaurant. The next three all made sense as they were involved in Mitch's life on a daily basis. There was one name, though, that stuck out. Anne Marie seemed to be visiting his page a lot, but, as far as Paul could tell, the two didn't know each other.
"Pepsi, we've got some work to do. We need to do some serious intel, starting with these five names. I'll get to work on hacking their lives while you get some of your buddies in here to keep me hydrated."
Paul went to the kitchen and grabbed a cold Pepsi. He returned with that determined look he would get in college when an idea took hold and he wouldn't sleep until everything was worked out just like he pictured it.
He took a long pull from one of the soldiers. A thought struck him, and he said, "I may need to take practicing beyond the fallen log. What do you think, Sergeant Pepsi?"
Sergeant Pepsi wasn't sure what he was getting at, and it showed on his metallic face.
"What I mean is that it is one thing to shoot at targets. I may want to make sure I can pull the trigger when it matters, before we continue branding people with ATM. Does that make sense?"
Paul took Sergeant Pepsi's silence to be a sign of tacit understanding. He got back to work.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mitch didn't remember his dreams, which was rare. He slept hard until he heard the sound of S. getting dressed. "What time is it?"
"A little after 5 a.m."
Most mornings, he would fight the coming of a new day. If the alarm had been set, he would hit snooze at least three times, but today felt like it was Christmas morning and Santa had left him everything on his list. "This is going to be so much fun."
"I know! I can't wait," she said, pulling on her boots. She asked, "How did you get all my sizes figured out?"
"Kate deserves the credit. I was going to call and talk with your assistant - what is her name?"
"Anne Marie."
"Yes, Anne Marie, but I was worried she might not be able to keep a secret."
"She is horrible at keeping secrets."
"Kate had the idea to call your agency, figuring they probably had your information on file."
"They don't just give that out to anyone."
"Kate might have given them the impression that you were being considered for some cover art."
"She is very clever."
"How does it fit?"
"You be the judge," she said and spun around.
"Not at all unattractive. If I were a bear, I'd nibble on you first."
"Not at all unappreciated, and let's keep our Scrabble wagers out of it."
"I didn't mean it like..."
"Are you blushing?"
"No, now where is that other boot," Mitch muttered, concentrating his search in the far corner of the room.
She came up behind him, gave him a hug, and dropped the boot by his side, "Here you go, cowboy. I'll be getting me some grub at the mess hall." She gave him a peck on the cheek.
The door opened and closed. Mitch grinned to himself. He had never known anyone who was so clever and sharp, especially at that hour of the morning. It was hard to keep up with her, barely possible, but he was going to give it his best try.
Mitch found S. at the main lodge. She had gotten them both a heaping pile of eggs, some toast, biscuits, and fresh fruit. Mitch wolfed down his food.
S. grinned. "You worked up an appetite, didn't you?"
"You only get one blush per day, and you've used yours."
Mitch tried to appear patient as S. teased him with some extra slow buttering of a last piece of toast. When she nibbled the last bite, he said, "Let's go, we're burning daylight."
Amber-Lee had the horses loaded and her team ready. She introduced Mike, Kaleb, and Makinzi and began with some safety instructions. Mitch took notes. Amber-Lee said, "I don't think anyone has ever written down what I'm saying."
S. poked him and said, "He doesn't want to get surprised by a pop quiz."
Mitch stuck his tongue out and said, "I'll have you know that I take notes everywhere. And, I'm not letting you cheat off my paper."
The next part was Mitch's favorite. They got to meet all the horses. They were massive. The all black ones were named Thunder, Jazz, and Tiny, which was obviously intended to be ironic. Thunder was Amber-Lee's horse and seemed to have an air of authority about him. Smoke had a reddish brown coat. Johnny was black with huge patches of white. Lonesome was a darker brown, and Cookie was black and white. The last horse was Frankie Blue Eyes.
Amber explained that Makinzi rode Morgan, who was, not coincidentally, a registered Morgan. She explained that a Morgan could be a bit feisty. She said, "He isn't mean but has been known to kick and bite strangers, so you might want to give him some space at first. Of course, he is also a big fan of snacking, and, if you are nibbling on something, he might decide you are best friends. When that happens, you may hug," she said, looking at Mitch.
"Possible hug candidate...noted."
"Kaleb rides Tiny who is the only horse bigger than Thunder. Mike rides Johnny. He has been raised as a lead horse."
The look on Mitch's face didn't need explaining.
"Now, the two of you will ride Jazz and Frankie. I'll let you pick."
Mitch said with childlike glee, "I call Frankie!"
S. said, "Jazz and I were meant for each other."
The morning air was exactly like one would imagine. Makinzi, Mike and Kaleb had taken care of loading the gear, all except for the camera stuff. Mitch let S. have first pick of the lenses.
They headed east from behind the lodge. Amber-Lee talked a little about the ride ahead then let the beauty of Alaska do all the talking. Mike was in the lead followed by S. on Jazz and Mitch, who was humming "Fly Me to The Moon, on Frankie.
The horses knew what they were doing. It was easy to stop, take a picture, and encourage them along. Mitch sensed that S. was as overwhelmed by the beauty as he was
because she was taking hundreds of pictures, too.
Shortly before they were to stop for lunch, Mike pointed out some Dall sheep off in the distance. It was still too far for a really good shot, but Mike led them to a spot where the photography would be better. The sheep were amazing to watch as they went about their business. The long lenses got Mitch and S. up close and personal with the wonderful beasts.
When they stopped for lunch, Mitch and S. changed camera batteries and put the morning ones on the solar chargers in their backpacks. The morning had been perfect, but some massive storm clouds seemed to be racing ahead to the planned campsite. Amber-Lee and her team didn't seem worried. Mitch didn't mind getting a chance to shoot some dramatic storm images, but he worried about whether S. would be miserable. The thought nagged at him all through lunch. If S. was worried, though, it didn't show on her face.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Chapter Twenty-Four
The thunderclouds seemed to be eying the little band of wanderers. Amber-Lee and Mike decided it was best to make camp. The plan had been to ride for another hour, but nobody was enthused about setting up tents in a storm.
Mitch and S. helped Makinzi tend to the horses. She was a good teacher; soon, the three of them had all their four-legged friends settled. The first tent was for cooking. It was up in no time. Thunder rolled across the mountains, and everyone hustled to get all the gear stowed.
Mike taught Mitch how to check the tent ropes to make sure everything was tight and could stand the bluster of the storms. The sense of urgency made it thrilling for Mitch. He hoped S. was enjoying it, too. It was a long way from the gallery world, though.
The temperature dropped, and the wind died down. A massive wall of clouds stood as if waiting for a starting gun. The calm was beautiful.
Mitch asked, "How far off is that wall?"
Mike said, "It's further than you might think. The mountains make it seem closer."
"How long do you think before we get hit?"
"It's hard to say. It doesn't look like it's moving right now. I'd say anywhere from five minutes to an hour."
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