The Apprentice

by Jana Barkley

  “Just let him play with it until he loses interest. He’s not going anywhere.” Satisfied, he came to sit next to her.

  “You’ve done well with this boy. Judging from his behavior, you’re not too far from hunting weight.”

  “Tell me about this hunting weight.” Sam sat in contentment, watching her hawk.

  “Wild hawks hunt when they’re hungry. You’ve taken Chance past his fear of you. Now you have to learn at what weight he’ll be willing to chase game with commitment. Which brings up something else we need to do to get him started on jacks.”

  “Red tails usually don’t hunt jacks in the wild. It’s more meat than they can drag away to safety, and a jack is dangerous for a red tail to subdue on its own. So we’ve got to convince him jacks are the best prey to catch. How do you think we can do this?”

  “I’ve read about something called a ‘dummy bunny,’ a lure that looks like a rabbit, right? Someone else hides and pulls it out of cover for the hawk to chase.”

  “Good, good. That’s one way. I have a simpler solution. Remo catches a jack almost every time I go hunting. My freezer is full to bursting. I take whatever he doesn’t eat over to the wildlife rehab center for the folks to feed their non-releasable hawks. Still, there’s lots left. What if we took one of those frozen jackrabbits, tied a string to it, and used it as the ‘dummy bunny’ instead?”

  Sam agreed. It sounded good.

  “He’s going to be too fat to fly tomorrow, judging from the size of that chunk of meat you gave him. How about mid-week—if you’re free—you and I try dragging a frozen rabbit entrée for him?” He found himself holding his breath until she laughed and nodded.

  “We’ll hide the rabbit in the field,” he continued, “and I’ll pull the string as you come walking up. It’ll perform like a wild rabbit running away. If we’re lucky, this fellow will chase it.”

  Chance had finished eating and footed the lure, hoping more meat would appear.

  “Offer him a tidbit on the glove and see if he’ll jump up to you.”

  Sam leaned down and offered the glove with a whistle. Chance jumped, but before he landed, he reconsidered and went back down to the lure on the ground.

  “Try a bigger tidbit this time. When he comes up to the glove, hide the lure with your body until you can stash it in your bag. You’ve got to be sneaky and quick. Remember, you’re not supposed to be taking the good things away from him.”

  That did the trick. Chance jumped up to the glove, but this time he dragged the lure up with him in his other foot.

  “Tricky little bastard. See how smart he is? All right, reach up under the glove with your free hand and try to pull it away. But if he calls you on it and tries to keep it, let him. Remember, we’re not in competition with him for food—because that’s how he’ll see it.”

  Sam reached up and tugged on the lure. She sighed relief when Chance let go and focused on the meat on her glove, giving her the opportunity to whip it down and back into her right pocket.

  “He’ll get better as time goes by.”

  When Chance had finished all of his reward, she put his equipment back on, and secured him to her glove.

  “Do you see how this hawk trusts you, Sam?” He watched the two of them, not bothering to hide his admiration as they walked back to the vehicles. “Put him away, and let’s talk.”

  Chance was happy to go back into the giant hood. He feaked his beak on the perch inside with great contentment. Sam removed her hawking bag and hoisted herself up on the back of her SUV, where Hank leaned back next to her.

  The chill morning had grown into a glorious midday despite clouds threatening rain from the west. Meadowlarks chirped and whizzed through the air, perching on fence posts to open their yellow throats in song, making the most of the late fall daylight. Hank let his mind get lost in the distance, his focus on the land around them. He wanted to tell her how proud he was of her, how he wanted to be more involved in guiding her than he had been, but how when he’d been such a jerk for most of their relationship. He caught her watching him, smiled, and looked away. “So, how does it feel?”

  “Feel?”

  “To be a falconer.”

  Her face glowed. There was no need for her to answer. They both knew it now, a special knowledge Sam could share with him.

  “Well, it feels like a beginning.”

  He nodded. “You never stop learning, Sam. I’ve been doing this for over thirty years, and I still have a lot to learn.”

  The look of respect she gave him made him feel guilty again.

  “Most people who know me will tell you I’m not one for handing out compliments. I’ve worked with eight, maybe nine, apprentices over the years.” He paused, uncomfortable. “I want you to know, no matter what happens down the line or what you hear from anybody else, I think you have the makings of a good falconer.”

  She remained silent, watching him.

  He stared at the ground, crossed his arms, and frowned. “What you’ve accomplished so far with this bird is better than a lot of first-year apprentices. I’ve been remiss, I admit, in not spending time with you like I should have—”

  Sam began to protest, but he would have none of it.

  “Just hear me out. I’ve been busy with other…matters.”

  Should he try to tell her about Tasha and the hellacious three weeks he’d spent trying to avoid her? As close as Sam seemed to Mary Kate, he reasoned, she’d probably been given the whole story by that Irish troublemaker. He opted for keeping things professional and leaving the personal stuff—his at least—out of it.

  “You’ve taken this hawk to where he is now all on your own, for the most part, since I haven’t been here to hold your hand. It tells me you have an innate ability that deserves to be developed. I’m proud of what you’ve done, and I’d like to spend more time in the field with you so we can get this boy hunting.”

  Sam grinned. “I had planned on asking you today if we could.”

  He was surprised at first, and then shrugged. “Even old guys like me have to rearrange their priorities once in a while.”

  Sam’s melodic laughter rang out clear and sweet on the crisp autumn air, making him glance over with some alarm and then curiosity.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I have a problem thinking of you as ‘old.’ If you’re old, then I’m right up there with you, and I’m not ready to make that concession yet.” It was obvious from the mirth on her face she meant it as a joke and hoped he’d take it as one.

  He was at a loss, and felt like some awkward, inexperienced high school kid trying to impress the homecoming queen. He wasn’t accustomed to her sense of humor, but it wouldn’t be hard to get used to that laugh and smile.

  “So what’s next, boss?”

  Again, she smiled that genuine smile. It mesmerized him like it had a moment before.

  “Do we fly one of yours or go find the others?” she asked.

  Just the mention of the others brought Tasha back again front and center and he could have sworn the day got darker. He didn’t realize how this had affected him until he saw Sam recoil from him.

  “Hank…?”

  “It’s nothing, Sam. I just…” Oh hell, he thought. It looked like he was going to have to deal with this after all. He stared back out at the field in front of them and swallowed hard. “Many years ago, I was sponsor to that woman you met this morning.”

  “Tasha?”

  He flinched at the mention of her name. He was sick to death of phone calls, tearful pleadings to come see her when she and her husband were fighting, or worse, when she was bored and needed someone to fawn over her. Tasha had to be adored, worshiped and made much of. She could never stand to be marginal in anyone’s life—at least anyone she thought mattered. He looked at the beautiful blonde sitting next to him, awash with curiosity and a bit of fear. She didn’t deserve to be mixed up in his insanity, but he knew he’d gone too far not to say something.

  “You should know she is a good falco
ner, for the most part. We had a…falling out, so to speak…several years ago. We don’t see eye to eye on many issues, which is something you’re going to learn is common amongst falconers.” He was quiet for a long moment, gathering his thoughts.

  Sam started to speak but he stopped her.

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but maybe you have a right to know. You’ll hear the rumors, if you haven’t already—”

  She interrupted him. “Rumors don’t affect me, Hank. I like to take people as they are. Anyway, I’ve signed on with you as my sponsor, so I’m yours for the next two years.” This last bit was said with soft humor and, he realized, to try to lift him out of the dark place.

  He stared at her as if she were some strange curiosity, like a new species of raptor he didn’t know what to do with. Then he gave way to a laugh and shook his head. He’d never met anyone like her, and she fascinated him more each time they got together. The idea of being stuck with Sam for any reason was far too tantalizing. His common sense told him to rein it in, but he allowed himself to return her playful banter. “Yes, you are, aren’t you?”

  The heaviness lifted, and Sam jumped up off the back of the SUV and said, “Well, sir, it’s high noon, and I’m hungry.”

  He studied her carefully before he smiled again. Interesting how something as simple as a smile from him could make her shift her gaze away.

  He laughed. “C’mon.” Propelled by some new energy, he headed off to his truck to lead the way.

  Entering: Setting up a situation for a green hawk to pursue quarry it has never caught before

  Chapter Eighteen

  The coast highway wound on mile after scenic mile, twisting through golden hills and eucalyptus-lined roads. Half Moon Bay, its coastal nurseries sporting some of the world’s most beautiful begonias and fantasy garden sculpture, was in its full November dress. The sweet country flavor broadcast by signs for last month’s pumpkin festival, replete with pony rides and pumpkin-carving contests, reminded Sam of her pre-teen years when she and her father had come here to pick the best pumpkin for Halloween. The tradition had carried over to her own son, Jason, and she and her husband had made it into a full-blown holiday tradition while he was very young. Sam allowed the sweet nostalgia to sweep over her and wondered if she’d still feel content to be touched by these memories if she hadn’t gotten to know the feathered occupant of the giant hood in the back of her SUV. Falconry was distracting. It filled her waking moments with concerns over Chance’s weight, behavior, and health, leaving her little time to fret over her own. That in itself was a blessing.

  The narrow road deposited her onto the coast highway, and she headed south. The tide was out, but the brilliance of light on water sparkled, half prompting her to pull over somewhere to get out and look. Bittersweet memories and fears she had wasted most of her life living for other people’s pleasure threatened to overwhelm her, but she thrust her foot down hard on the gas. She could not stop to be sad; perhaps the time for sorrow would come, but not now.

  The past week had forced her to step away from her falconry for a few days, an act that convinced her she had no business ever allowing it to happen again. First, it had rained one day, keeping Chance grounded and both of them stuck inside. Then her first session of chemo had sent her to bed for two days, except for short trips to the bathroom to throw up. It felt like morning sickness all over again, but without the expectation of a happy event to follow. The counselor had reassured her there was a good chance she might be one of the many people who had little or no side effects, like nausea, fatigue, or hair loss. It was too soon to tell for sure, because the medicines took time to build up over several treatments, but Sam’s stomach had been sensitive all her life. After three days, she found her legs and, in typical Sam fashion, drove herself forward past the ordeal to prove she was unaffected.

  Hank had called during her dark days and given her something else to look forward to. Whether she liked to admit it or not, his call had been the turning point that got her over this temporary drop. True to his word he had asked her out to his place to work with him. More than once as she lay miserable in bed, trying to make her stomach cooperate, she found her mind replaying their last meeting. His strange new appeal, his disarming smile, and the way he had jumped to her defense when the all too formidable Tasha had tried to ruin her day, still gave her a thrill. But she reined those thoughts in now as she drove farther south to the town of Tunitas, where Hank’s place was located outside in the foothills west of the coast highway.

  Before she reached the town, Sam spotted the mailbox on the right bearing his name: Gerard. The gravel road to Hank’s place banked sharply to the right and disappeared behind thickets of coyote bush and fragrant wild fennel that ran rampant up and down the coast. The SUV bumped along over the uneven trail, making Sam smile at the nature of the road and the seclusion of it all, so like the man she was getting to know. In some spots, the brush grew as high as her vehicle, and she was wondering if she was on the right path until the thicket dissolved into an open meadow. Ahead, she saw a small cottage with smoke coming from the chimney, and beyond it lay the outbuildings and probably the mews. Compared to her home, some people might have described it as neglected. But the yard around the house was well cared for, reflecting Hank’s meticulous nature, even alone out here in the middle of nowhere. Off to the right, she saw his truck and pulled up next to it, taking care not to run over the remnants of a thriving vegetable garden. This place felt more like home, the home of her childhood back in Illinois, than the million-dollar suburban home she’d grown used to in her adult life.

  Sam got out and opened the back hatch to her vehicle so fresh air would circulate well around Chance’s box. There was no sign of the man around, so she walked up the stone path leading to his front door. It was lined with sweet-smelling herbs wafting their heady aromas up toward her as her feet brushed against them, letting her know they had been placed there for that purpose. So, he liked to garden. She smiled, following the path as it led her around the corner of the house to its front side. The cottage front faced the ocean and away from the road, giving the occupant even more of that seclusion he treasured. And Sam found herself wondering again, in spite of her resolve not to do so, how someone like Tasha with her expensive tastes and surface values had managed to live out here for those years she and Hank were together. Had she valued the simple beauty and peace of this hidden locale? Or had she tried to make it over into something else, an act Sam was sure would not have been to Hank’s liking, although he might have tolerated it. But then, maybe she was the one who had planted the chamomile and other herbs so lovingly along the stone steps. Perhaps she had a different side to her nature reserved just for Hank. Love could make you do crazy things, she mused as she stopped at the front door, which was standing wide-open.

  She hesitated to call out, not wanting to disturb this private glimpse into his world before he appeared and could shut her out. Stepping up to the doormat, she peered in long and slow before finding her voice.

  “Hank?” She listened, but there was nothing but the sound of the ocean that lay out of sight somewhere behind the mews and low hills beyond. “Anyone home?”

  As she might have figured, the cottage décor was simple. It was filled with walls of books and old but inviting overstuffed furniture that begged to be sat in, the kind that swallowed you in comfort and threatened never to let you get up again. Good for reading on cold coastal days and nights by a warm fire. On the table by the door lay various pieces of leather, several pairs of jesses, and assorted bits of falconry gear. Hanging from the wall on a makeshift rack were several hoods, more than were necessary for the two birds Hank owned.

  A lingering scent of coffee from the kitchen wrapped around the end of the room just out of sight and almost pulled Sam forward into the house. The ambiance of this person’s life and her stolen glimpse into it touched some deep, hidden longing and also kept her frozen on the doorstep. She wanted to remain longer, but
a panicked memory of how Hank had a habit of appearing when she least expected him made her start. She turned her head, relieved to see he wasn’t there. Stuffing her hands in her jeans, she meandered into the yard and then toward the mews, figuring it was the next logical place to find him.

  A home with its comforts and general ambiance of belonging called to the wounded part of her. If she were honest with herself, she longed to be held and comforted, to be connected with a place, a home, and a person who cared. Sam sighed. It would be something to fight for—or agonize over losing. A glance over to Chance’s box in the back of her SUV was usually enough to reassure her he was all the connection she needed to anyone or anything. But this week she’d had her first real taste of this disease, and it had shaken her. For the first time in months, she felt a small thrill of fear flutter in her stomach.

  “Sam.”

  He’d done it again. She jerked her head around to see him standing not five feet from her. He’d come from the mews. Sam whipped out her characteristic game face to hide her feelings. A glance at his eyes told her she might have to pedal fast to keep him from snooping into her life, like she’d been snooping into his. Quelling a rising panic, she forced herself to calm down and meet his gaze.

  “I’m not too early, am I?” She’d rattled out the words good-naturedly enough, but the rush with which she expelled them made her wince. He could read her like a book, and he knew something was off. She had to turn away, pretending to take in his yard. “This is quite a place you have.”

  Most people, to Sam’s way of thinking, would have jumped into the conversation. She should have known he’d not be inclined to act like most people. Except for a small glimmer of question, he stared at her and didn’t take the bait. Was he just going to stare at her and watch her squirm?

  His demeanor changed, and he half turned back to the mews while extending an arm in that direction, as an invitation. “Come on in.” His voice was quiet, but not disgruntled, giving her the odd sensation he was treating her like an anxious hawk or falcon he was trying to gentle down. And in a flicker of a moment, in spite of the well-worked layers of protection she’d taken months to build to keep others from her secret, she considered sharing the truth with this man. Indeed, he was a master of extorting such trust from any living creature. The thought was enough to make her stop and turn back to the house and her truck parked beside it.