Three Men and a Woman_Liberty

by Rachel Billings

  It could never work. She just couldn’t believe it would ever be in the nature of these three strong men to want to share one woman. She couldn’t picture it, couldn’t imagine how it would look.

  Couldn’t conceive of bringing children into such a relationship.

  Dawn was approaching before she finally put it all from her mind and slept. She woke late and spent Sunday determinedly not thinking of it, focusing—with not great success—on prepping her classes.

  She used that same determination to get through that week, and the next one, and the next one, too—all without hearing from Tag. She got no call, no text, not a word from him.

  Until she did.

  * * * *

  Orion learned a grizzly had enough strength in its jaws to get a grip on a good-sized man, lift him up in rage, and shake him around like a rag doll.

  That was a bit of information he could have gone his whole life happily without knowing.

  At this dire, excruciatingly painful, possibly near-last moment of his life, he was really, really wishing he didn’t have to know it.

  He was playing dead, because that was what he knew to do, but it wasn’t easy and he had to worry that he wouldn’t have to be playing at it for long.

  He’d ridden out to check the fences and found, like happened once in a while, a pronghorn that had stupidly gotten tangled up in the wire. Some critter had discovered it before him—a large predator, obviously. His mare, Kate, was naturally nervous as Orion had approached the site slowly, his eyes scanning the area on the far side of the fence and not spotting any movement. As he got closer, he could see it had been a grizz. The rear haunches of the antelope were gone, so he figured the bear had already had its meal, or dragged it off to her den, if she was a female with young. He spent a good couple minutes eyeing the grasses beyond the fence, and then the shrubs and trees further on.

  Finding it all clear, he dismounted and dropped the reins to ground-tie Kate inside the fence. She’d already scented the bear, of course, so he stood beside her and said, “Whoa,” a couple times to counter her very reasonable instinct to skedaddle. He loaded the chamber of his Remington 870 with an extra slug, leaned the shotgun against the wire so he could pull it through from the other side, and climbed over. When he landed on his feet, he retrieved the gun, stood with his back to the wire, and looked the site over again.

  Finally, he turned to the grim task of working the prong’s antlers out from the wire so he could drag the half carcass far enough away that the scent of it—or of whatever other predator came by to finish it off—didn’t rile the bison herd.

  Turning his back to the grass and scrub brush behind him was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

  Though it was entirely possible he wouldn’t live to make any mistake again.

  A grizz could run faster than he’d have believed. He felt the pounding of its weight into the earth before he heard it, and, by almost that time, he could smell its breath. He raised his shotgun but didn’t have time to turn. The most he could do was fire once into the air as he went down.

  It was a she-bear, and she was big and strong and angry. She used her weight to take him down, barreling into him like a Mack truck. He hit the ground hard, and the blow plus her weight over him kept him from drawing a breath for what felt like forever. With her big front paws on his chest, she sniffed at him from neck to knees. He had a weird moment of thinking her breath smelled little different from a dog’s before she took hold.

  He wouldn’t have lived to tell about it, he knew, if she’d gone for his neck.

  Or if she’d been hungry still instead of just mad that he’d been poaching what was, to her mind, her claim.

  As it was, she took him in her jaws at his right flank, and the crushing power of the bite was even worse than the tearing punctures from those huge canines. She lifted him and he cried out, unable to stay silent for that first overwhelmingly painful, terrorizing moment of it. She shook him, and he clenched his jaw hard against the horrible helplessness, the grueling pain.

  Then she tossed him, and he flew. He landed several yards away, another rough tumble to the ground. He rolled and curled up, trying to protect his right side, and covered his head with his arms.

  His shotgun hadn’t flown with him.

  He worked as hard as he could to school his breath, to shut down the panic in it, to stay silent. He was gushing blood—he could feel that the right side of his shirt was saturated already and blood was pooling on the ground beneath him. She’d scent it, he knew, but he couldn’t do anything about that. He got as quiet as he could and stayed low—the grass was hiding him from her view, or, at least, hiding her from his view—but he didn’t raise his head to look. To remind her he was there.

  She’d gone back to the prong carcass—hopefully, she knew that to be good eating, while he was an unknown commodity. He could hear when she took hold and yanked it clear of the fence. He remembered, too, hearing his mare object to the nearness of the bear. She’d whinnied in distress and then, perfectly legit, broke her training and galloped off.

  Orion was grateful for that fact—if his single shot didn’t bring help, maybe the riderless horse would.

  It was too soon for gratitude, though, because the grizzly hadn’t forgotten him. She’d gone several paces through the grass with the pronghorn, and he’d had a minute to hope she was on her way back to her young.

  But, no. She dropped the carcass and came sniffing for him.

  He stayed curled and stilled his breath as much as he could, a sort of challenge like he’d never faced in his life. Lying there, trying to act as much like dead as possible, while she sniffed in a circle around him. Once, she turned her back on him and peed on his legs. That did, in fact, stink.

  If that had been all…

  She took another hold and started dragging him. She got his left shoulder and upper arm this time, and he could feel his flesh tear. Maybe that wasn’t a satisfactory hold on him, though, because she let go, huffed around him a bit more, and took another bite at his left hip.

  She turned and dragged him backward, and he did what he could to be that rag doll. He was kind of hoping he’d lose enough blood to pass out, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to be awake for what happened next.

  The bitch surprised him, though, letting go of him once she’d gotten him to the trees. She left him there and went back for the pronghorn.

  Then she was gone. He told himself to wait. Reminded himself that every minute would feel like an hour. He checked his watch because he knew he wouldn’t be able to monitor time accurately.

  After ten excruciating minutes, he figured she’d left him there, stashed, for a later meal. She’d probably taken the lighter prey—the half of the prong—to her cubs.

  He decided he wasn’t going to be that meal. At least, not if he didn’t bleed to death first. If he did that, well, then, the rest wouldn’t matter.

  He lifted his head and took a look around. His swirling vision gave further evidence to the amount of blood he’d lost. Using his right arm and leg—moving them hurt a lot, given the wounds in his right side, but his left arm and leg didn’t want to respond to his brain’s signals at all—he pushed himself back against a tree and took stock.

  Most of the blood loss was coming from the initial wounds—the bite the bear had taken when she’d tossed him. He couldn’t see his back, but blood was still streaming out from below his right ribs. First order of business, he thought, was to stem that flow. Otherwise, he wouldn’t make it the thirty or forty yards back to the fence and his shotgun.

  He’d stripped down to just his long-sleeved thermal shirt as the May sun had warmed the day. Gritting his teeth against the pain of it, he pushed himself up into sitting enough that he could grasp the back of it and pull it over his head. He tugged his right arm out of it then peeled if off the left, doing his best not to look too closely at the wounds there.

  When he had it free, he used his teeth and his right hand to get the sleeves tied around h
im, bunching up the bulk of the shirt to put pressure where there was the most active bleeding. Then he looked toward the fence, went down onto his right forearm, and started a slow, one-sided military crawl.

  He had to stop more than once to rest, and he could only pray the she-bear was taking a nap through the heat of the day and wouldn’t be back until it was dinner time. The third time he stopped, his head resting down on his arm, he either passed out or fell asleep. When he jerked awake, he realized he’d die if he rested again.

  Finding his shotgun was the next priority. Making it to the fence without it didn’t seem all that useful, because there was no way he was going to get himself back over that high wire. So he did his best to split the difference between where he’d come over the fence and where he’d landed when the bear had thrown him. He got lucky and found the gun along his path—the barrel pointing at him just out of arm’s reach. He went for it, then felt a lot better finishing the crawl to the fence.

  When he got there, he propped himself up as well as he could against the field wire fencing. Holding the shotgun butt to the ground, he pumped it. He had a slug in the chamber now, and two left in the mag. He fired once, pumped it again, and fired once more. He figured that would be most likely to get someone’s attention and knew as he chambered the last slug that he wouldn’t have the strength or time to fire more than once if the bear came back.

  He’d done all he could do. He bent his right leg up, rested the gun along his thigh, put his index finger over the trigger guard, and waited to see what would happen next.

  * * * *

  Liberty slung her gear bag over her shoulder and walked out to her car. She exercised every day after school was out, either yoga or a cardio workout and weights. Today had been a yoga day. Typically, she went home after, fixed herself a light dinner, and spent the evening working on her score.

  She rummaged for her phone as she went through the parking lot and stopped right out in the open when she read the screen. One missed call from Tag and then a text.

  911. Please call ASAP.

  She looked up as someone gently honked to get her out of the line of traffic, moved to her car, and sat behind the wheel. Then she took a breath and made the call.

  “Lib,” Tag said, using no greeting. She could hear the tension in that single word. “I need your help. Orion’s hurt, and Keegan, too. Ry’s being airlifted to Denver Trauma. He should be there soon, if not already. Can you go?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “I’m putting the phone on speaker and starting the car right now. What happened?”

  “Grizzly,” he said, the anguish clear in his voice. “Bad. He was passed out from blood loss when we found him.”

  Jesus. And—“Keegan?”

  “The idiot appears to have broken his ankle going over the fence to help Ry. I’ve got him in the truck, headed into Cheyenne now.”

  She assumed “the idiot” was riding next to Tag and listening, so she let that pass. “Oh, my God.” Poor Tag was all she could think. But, then…Orion. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’ll look out for your brother, I promise.”

  “Thank you, baby. And…please? Would you tell them you’re his fiancée? So you can stick close to him, and the staff won’t question it?”

  “I…I don’t think that’s necessary, is it?”

  “It might help, though. If…if there are any decisions to be made. Please.”

  Liberty swallowed hard. She heard his distress and couldn’t say no. “Yes. Sure.”

  “Listen, then. Make a stop on your way, would you? I’ve…I’ve got a ring for you already. It’s at Abby Sparks. I’ll call right now and tell them you’re coming.”

  Now she was suspicious. “Tag,” she said sternly. “If you’re making any part of this up…”

  “I’m not. I swear.”

  “I know you lied to me about that committee meeting.”

  “I-I’m sorry for that. But this is real. And…if it would help to have the ring, I want you to do it. It’s there anyway, already paid for.”

  Liberty made a turn away from Denver Trauma toward Tejon Street. Because everyone in Denver knew where Abby Sparks was. “Just so you know,” she told Tag. “I think you’re crazy.”

  “Duly noted. I’ll hang up now so I can call them. Let me know the minute you have news on Ry.”

  “I will.”

  “Thanks, babe. Love you.”

  She ended the call without answering, because finding a parking space in the high-end shopping and dining district would take some attention. Plus, really? What was she supposed to say?

  * * * *

  Tag could have wished for some response to his final words, but, even so, the crazy worry that slammed around inside him made room for a little bit of satisfaction that his woman would be wearing his ring soon. Without glancing at Keeg—who’d been white-faced with pain the last time he’d looked across the cab of his truck at him—he asked his phone to dial up Abby’s and gave the woman who answered the call his directions.

  Keegan spoke as soon as the call was over.

  “That what you call making lemonade when life hands you a bowl of cherries?”

  He looked then and was happy Keeg had managed at least half a grin.

  It had been a hell of a day.

  He’d been in his office paying bills when Keegan had ridden right up to the window and booted it so hard Tag had thought for a second he was coming through it. But he was leading Ry’s mare—saddled-up, but without Ry on her back—and hollering a single word before he dropped Kate’s reins and tore out.

  “Trouble!”

  Tag paused only long enough to switch into his boots before he was out the door, leaping onto Kate, and following Keeg. He didn’t even stop to close the house fence behind them.

  He knew that Orion had gone out early to ride the fence. He could only hope that Keegan had more of an idea where to look for their brother than Tag did and that following him was the best plan.

  From a half mile behind, he saw Keegan veer west before he approached the fence, so Tag made a shortcut in that direction, too. By the time Tag got to the fence, Keeg was already over it. He was lifting Ry’s head up from the ground and trying to pour water down him from the canteen Keeg always rode out with.

  There was blood every-fucking-where.

  “He’s…” Tag couldn’t finish that sentence.

  “Alive,” Keeg said. “A lot of blood loss, though.”

  No shit. But that meant Keeg was doing the right thing, replacing fluid. And he could see Ry’s eyes roll open, now, and the effort he made to swallow at Keeg’s encouragement.

  “Grizzly,” Tag said, and Keeg might have nodded. “You’re over there without your gun.”

  “I knew you were behind me,” Keeg said economically. “Plus, Ry’s is here. It should still have one slug in it. Pass mine over, though, and the water bottle from Kate, too. Then go call for help. We need to get him airlifted.”

  That would take time, Tag knew, a lot of time. Cell phones were no use out on the land, so he’d have to stay by the phone to direct a helo in.

  “Let’s switch,” Tag suggested, though Keeg was doing everything right. But Tag couldn’t leave both his brothers, not with a grizzly out there who’d already tasted Harper blood.

  “No,” Keegan said. “Can’t.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “I think I broke my ankle coming over. I can’t ride. Not well, anyway. Can’t even get back over the fence.”

  Goddammit. Like it could get any worse.

  Tag had already grabbed the 870 from Keegan’s saddle. He’d been scanning the scrubland on the far side of the fence, almost too afraid to turn away.

  He opened the straps that held Ry’s jacket over Kate’s hindquarters. He threw it over the fence and waited, watching for movement across the way again, while Keeg rolled it and used it to prop Ry up. Then he passed the shotgun through the fence and motioned for Keeg to pass the other one back for a reload.

&n
bsp; He confirmed that Ry was down to one slug, already chambered. He swallowed hard when he grasped the meaning of that. It wasn’t like he’d spent two or three shots taking down the grizz, because—no dead bears.

  “Did he signal?”

  “Yeah,” Keeg said. “I thought I heard one shot when I was in the barn. But I stepped outside and didn’t hear another, so I didn’t think anything of it. It must have been an hour later before I heard two shots.”

  Tag could guess what had happened during that hour. A bloody path showed where Ry had crawled across the grass—he’d probably lost the shotgun before the bear had dragged him away. Which must have been a freaking horror.

  Figuring it out wasn’t what was needed at the moment, though. He peeled off the two shirts he wore and tossed them over fence. “Bind the rest of his wounds as well as you can. And reinforce the one under his ribs, too.” The one that had gone way past saturating the shirt Ry had gotten tied around himself.

  He went to the saddlebags of both horses and grabbed the emergency flares all of the men carried with them when they rode out. He passed those through the fence. “I’ll signal you with three shots from the house when the rescue helo’s getting close. Light a couple of the flares then and set them as high in the fence as you can. I’ll be on my way back then, too.”

  “Got it,” Keeg said.

  “Keep your boot on.”

  “Yeh.”

  Then, there was nothing more either of them could do except for what they had to. He passed the second Remington over and prayed like hell it wouldn’t be needed.

  The hour-plus that he spent riding back to the house, talking his way through a 911 call to get an airlift, patched through to the helo to guide the team in, then heading back to his brothers passed in a slow, painful blur.

  He took their biggest ATV back to the fence, and, by time he got there, the helo had already set down. The pilot had made the safe choice and put skids down inside the fence. A bison could do a lot of damage to a helicopter, but the herd would naturally stay shy of all the ruckus. A grizzly couldn’t be counted on to behave so sensibly.