by Jana Barkley
Hank glanced up at her. “He’ll probably fight the damned thing when you try to put it on him again.” He took a long drink and sat back. “But since we’ve started this, we’ll need to keep it up.”
She was too tired to ask, but he anticipated her question.
“Take it off when you get back to the room, and do it in dim light. He’s earned a peaceful night. Tomorrow, in the field, don’t do anything different. I still don’t want you to use it in the field if you don’t have to. When you’re hunting, you don’t want to have to go through all of the antics we did back there. The last thing we need to do is make him unhappy about accepting you as his hunting partner. But at the end of each day, you can practice and make him wear it for a spell. Then take it off before he goes down for the night. Got it?”
He had asked this last question with concern, making Sam realize how wiped out she felt.
“Yeah. I do.”
He continued to eye her, sitting back in his chair. “That flu must have hit you hard last week.”
Sam flushed. “I think I’ll call it a night. What time are we leaving in the morning?”
“Early. So get some sleep,”
She nodded and rose. A few feet from the table, she stopped and turned back. “Hank?”
He was still sitting there, watching her.
“That was pretty amazing. Thank you.”
She couldn’t read the expression on his face and was too tired to bother. “Good night.”
He shrugged, and she didn’t turn back to see whether he was still watching. The noise of the vendor’s room roared off to her left, making her glad to leave it behind.
****
He watched her leave and ground his teeth together, making his jaw ache from the repeated abuse. Dammit, he liked this woman, but his instincts told him to watch out. There was something going on here, a secret or problem she was working hard to keep him away from.
His first inclination would be to walk away from this and tell her to go find someone else, but there was a problem. He looked back over to the busy vending room, remembering how close she had been to him and so deeply enrapt in a shared concentration that had taken them both into the mind of her hawk. The scent of her hair just inches from his mouth as he’d whispered instructions into her ear, sensing her tremble with fear and excitement as her hawk responded to the training—all of it was enough to make him close his eyes and wish like hell he’d never met her. He couldn’t let this relationship go now even if he wanted to.
A familiar laugh at the end of the bar made him tense and then look around. How glad he was the sight of her no longer filled him with an ache to have her back in his arms. But before he could get away, she spotted him, and together with her male entourage came to seat herself next to him at the bar. She smelled of alcohol and sweat, something that had once driven him crazy with lust but now made him cringe in disgust as she wrapped an arm around his neck.
“Tasha, get off me,” he growled. The idiots around her laughed harder and he felt his face grow red with rage. He was sick to death of being the object of her drunken obsessions.
He pushed her away into the arms of another man and heard their surprised laughs. One of them, a friend of his, tried to call him back but he was long gone before anyone could lay a hand on his arm.
Women, he thought, storming from the bar and out into the frigid night.
Fret mark: Weakened area in a hawkʼs feathers due to times of starvation or stress
when the feathers were developing
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was five a.m., and the sun hadn’t come up, yet. She knew this because she’d spent the last half hour in the bathroom, retching and glancing up in despair through the tiny bathroom window to see if dawn was approaching. Whatever had been left of dinner the night before was gone, and now her stomach muscles ached from the repeated abuse. Why, oh why, did she have to endure a serious bout with nausea now? A heavy-duty anti-emetic drug which the doctor had given her should she start to experience bad nausea was in her cosmetic bag in the bathroom next to her bare feet, but she was afraid to put anything in her stomach for fear she couldn’t keep it down. Maybe she should have eaten more last night, or maybe she should have gotten to bed sooner, but circumstances had prevented an early departure. Now nothing mattered more than getting her stomach under control.
Having had precious little sleep most of the night after her encounter with Hank the evening before hadn’t helped. As tired as she had been when she reached her hotel room, sleep would not come. Over and over her mind replayed each touch, each whisper, and each glance with such clarity she had almost risen at three in the morning and gone for a walk to still her feverish thoughts and feelings. But then the nausea had hit her hard.
Covered with cold perspiration, she downed the medication with water, ignoring the worry of more vomiting, and grabbed a package of crackers she’d brought to force something solid into her stomach. It had worked with morning sickness when she was younger, and she hoped it would with this, too. After five more minutes of sitting shaky and sweaty in the bathroom, she eased herself up and waited for the wave of nausea to come. It didn’t. Half an hour was all she had to lie in bed and see if she could beat this.
She slipped out of the bathroom and into the darkened room. Mary Kate’s heavy breathing told her she had not woken her up. She curled herself up into a tight ball between the sheets and blankets and waited. Five minutes more, when her eyes began to close, she knew it was okay. Thank God.
The alarm went off at six, and Sam struggled awake, feeling like she was treading through waves of dark, bleary consciousness, and the heavy exhaustion would no doubt dog her all day. What she wouldn’t give for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Neither she nor Mary Kate bothered to shower, knowing they were destined to get filthy during the morning’s hunt. Sam stared in horror at the rings under her eyes as she washed her face. No amount of makeup would help. The old flu excuse would have to suffice.
She and Mary Kate ate some breakfast in the restaurant and were joined by the others, except Hank. John said he’d seen him talking to some people at the weathering yard. He’d waved and said he’d see them all in a bit. Her appetite was good again, and she ate everything on her plate.
After breakfast, Sam went to the fireplace in the lobby and indulged herself by sitting in a large leather chair. She was feeling much better, but she still didn’t have her full energy back. Now her stomach was less of a concern, she thought about the closeness she’d shared with Hank in the crazy, over-crowded room, stepping inside the mind of her wild hawk with him and coaxing the bird to trust her enough to wear a hood. They’d forged a bond there in that intangible space. It beckoned to her now, and she wondered whether he would appear if she tugged on the invisible connection within, responding in kind. She longed for this with her whole heart in spite of the safety barrier she knew she must guard vigilantly lest she slip and let her secret out.
Some men walked over to stand by the fire next to her. Burrowed into the large chair, she realized they did not see her sitting there.
“So you want to try that duck pond up Route 116?”
She recognized Grant Marshall’s voice when he responded. “Yeah, I thought we’d go out there.”
“Where’s Tasha?”
Grant snorted. “Too much to drink last night. And her bird’s fat. She caught a duck yesterday.”
The others laughed in understanding, no doubt having been there themselves a time or two.
Well, good for her, Sam thought. To catch a duck was no easy feat.
“What was that silliness going on in the bar last night?”
“Oh,” he said with a big dramatic gesture, “she can’t let go of the old timer. Feels like she owes him something, or has to babysit him.”
“Dude, Gerard doesn’t look like he needs any babysitting.”
Grant shrugged. “It’s annoying,” he agreed, “but she knows where home is.”
&nb
sp; Silliness at the bar? Must have been after she left. Of course her mind wanted to know if Hank had been a part of it, whatever it was. As the conversation started to get a little too close to home, she decided to make her presence known. Shifting in her chair, she leaned closer to the fire.
“Oh, hello,” came the surprised response from the man closest to her, causing Grant and the others to turn.
“Aren’t you Hank’s apprentice?” Grant was all charm and seemingly unconcerned she may have heard him talking about Hank. He stepped forward and offered his hand.
She shook it with a confident smile, not about to reveal she was aware of anything. “Hi, I’m Sam.” Her voice was strong and clear, as if she were getting ready to make a business presentation. The men seemed impressed.
Sam noticed Joe Terry, Tasha’s apprentice, and jumped on the moment. “Congratulations on catching that white tail.”
Her compliment worked. Joe grinned wide as the others clapped him on the shoulder. Sam beamed inside. Yep, she still had it. She could control this situation if she chose.
She rose to go, but Joe stopped her.
“That was something, watching you guys hood-train your hawk last night.”
She had not been aware of the rest of the room when it was going on. Joe seemed a decent young man, ready to return a compliment, and it made her like him.
“Hank knows what he’s doing,” she said.
“How long have you had your bird?” Grant asked the question, leaving Sam to wonder if he was genuine or fishing for information to fan the flames of his wife’s obsession.
She smiled sweetly. “I trapped him in mid-October.”
“Caught any game yet?” It was another man, being civil.
“Not yet,” she said. “Yesterday, he pulled a lot of fur. We’re almost there.”
The other man chuckled. “It takes a little longer with the males. Gotta make them believe they can catch the big rabbits.”
As their group moved to head out to the field, Joe gave her a small wave as they walked to the door.
Grant turned around and came back. His expression was strange, as if he were trying to hide something, and then he moved closer to her.
“You may not appreciate what I have to say, but I’m going to share this in the interest of what I’ve seen happen in the past.”
Sam was at a loss.
“Take my advice. Don’t mess with the hood on that red tail anymore. It’s too late to do it, and you’ll only ruin whatever good you’ve done with the bird if you do. He should have been hooded from day one, right off the trap. Everyone knows that, even Gerard.”
Sam frowned and stepped back from this uninvited intimacy.
“I know this sounds harsh, but I’ve got my reasons for telling you. Tasha wanted to talk to you, too, but she didn’t have the opportunity. Hank’s all into this ‘relationship’ thing. Like he’s some great guru when it comes to getting into their heads.”
He stopped to scan the room again and then leaned closer. “He totally screwed up Tasha’s first red tail that way. He was convinced he could get her to work with it without hooding, trying to prove this theory of his. He took a perfectly good bird and turned it into a monster that wouldn’t catch game. Tasha had to release it and get another hawk the next year and start all over again. She would have dumped him as her sponsor, only she didn’t know any better, and then…well, you know, they were involved.”
Sam continued to move back. The man’s energy was overbearing.
Still, Grant’s concerned expression threw her. Could she have let her affection for Hank blind her to the other side of the story?
“If you doubt me,” he said, “ask Hank to tell you about Carmen. She was Tasha’s red tail.”
Sam nodded curtly, desperate to get out of there. “If you’ll excuse me...”
She turned to leave, but he put a hand on her arm to stop her.
“And if he gives you grief because you don’t want to ruin your bird with late hooding, then just know you can get a new sponsor. You always have a choice.”
Sam felt trapped by his intensity until he startled, and she noticed Hank standing at the back of her chair. His face was dark and his steely eyes sparked with a raging storm within. Grant had obviously noticed him, too, and his hand fell from Sam’s arm as he stood back and then walked away.
Although she had done nothing wrong, she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t. A complete victim to this inadvertent exchange, she could find no words or greetings to gloss over whatever it was Hank must be thinking.
He turned to go out to the parking lot, and she raced after him.
“Hank.”
But he continued to his vehicle.
“Hank,” she said, catching up with him.
“I don’t know what was going on back there, and I don’t want to know.” He gritted the words out, refusing to acknowledge her.
“Nothing happened back there. He approached me…” Her voice died away as Hank turned and walked to the driver’s side of his SUV.
Sam flushed hot with rage. Damn his nasty, unpredictable disposition.
Her anger propelled her to her own vehicle where Chance was already loaded up and ready to go.
“Hey, kiddo.” Mary Kate’s voice pulled her around. “Why don’t you let me return the favor of a ride today. Load up Chance and your gear in my van?”
Sam turned and nodded, still stunned silent. Mary Kate hadn’t noticed. Maybe she could talk with her about it on the way out to the field.
The two of them climbed into the van and drove to the entrance of the parking lot, where John and Karen’s truck was waiting for them. They waved as Mary Kate pulled up parallel to them and rolled down the passenger window.
“We’re waiting for Hank, I guess,” John said.
Hank’s black SUV pulled up on Mary Kate’s side.
She rolled down her window. “You know where we’re goin’, boss?”
His face was stone. He refused to make eye contact with Sam. Instead, he made a short, impatient gesture for Mary Kate to lead the way.
Mary Kate rolled up the window with a soft whistle as she drove away. “Who peed in his coffee this morning?”
“I did—I think.”
“Good Lord, girl. Are you two at it again?”
Sam’s face contorted and she took a deep gasp for air.
“Whoa, girl. What happened?” Mary Kate kept driving, but whipped her head back and forth between the road and Sam.
“I’m clueless. I was sitting by the fireplace, waiting to leave like everyone else, and Grant Marshall and his friends came up. They talked to me. Then he talked to me. I didn’t even say anything, and then there’s Hank ready to skin me alive, as if I’d done something wrong.”
The tears started to come. She fought them back.
“Ah geez,” said Mary Kate, leaning her elbow against the door. “Tell me what Grant said.”
Sam did, and Mary Kate shook her head in disgust. “Goddam arrogant son of a bitch.” She glanced at Sam. “Sorry, kiddo. And I bet old sour puss overheard some of it and thought you were part of the conversation.”
Sam nodded. “Exactly. And you know as well as I do how hard it is to get past that slammed door when Hank shuts you out. I don’t deserve this.”
“No, you don’t.”
Mary Kate gave a disgusted sigh. “I’ll tell you about Carmen,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “I was there when Tasha and Hank trapped that huge female, and I saw him put a hood on her the same day.”
“So, Grant was lying to me. Or Tasha has lied to him.”
Mary Kate drove in silence for a moment. “Let the man work through this in the field today. Maybe he’ll come to understand you were set up. We’ll see if he comes around.”
Her nerves were still raw and outraged from the false culpability foisted onto her. If there was anything she hated in life, it was someone she cared about thinking she had done or said somethi
ng wrong when she hadn’t. And the added anxiety of being kept from defending herself made it many times worse.
Their cars left the highway and crawled up a dirt road for several miles before they stopped at the mouth of an open wash.
Still shell-shocked from the morning’s misunderstanding, Sam moved mechanically, helping Mary Kate to switch on Farley’s telemetry and cut up tidbits of jackrabbit. With a sideways glance, she saw Hank getting Remo ready to fly, not once bothering to recognize her and showing no sign of softening. There was nothing she could do but stay with Mary Kate and pray for a thaw.
John and Karen each had Harris hawks. The four birds interacted well as their handlers stepped out into the field. John and Karen used T-perches, something she remembered Hank didn’t like. This morning, Mary Kate had brought hers, leaving Hank with the only bird on a glove. Sam carried her glove into the field. The others had told her it was always wise to do in case of emergencies, even if she wasn’t flying a hawk.
They climbed the crest of a rise and discovered a dried-out creek bed spreading out along the edge of the wash on the other side. The birds took off in pursuit of what must have been a cottontail. John and Karen’s hawks spotted it first and were used to working together, one a male and the other a female. The little male with his smaller size and faster flying ability tagged the rabbit first, then held on, waiting for the larger female to lend her weight and strength to make the capture a done deal. Farley and Remo joined them on the ground, but Hank and Mary Kate picked them up and moved away. Once the bunny was bagged in John’s hunting vest, the pack was on the move again.
A second flush, this time a jackrabbit, was a perfect foot slip, meaning the rabbit flushed right by their feet as they walked. It blasted out to their right, with four eager Harris hawks in pursuit. Again, John and Karen’s hawks caught it first. There was more of a struggle this time. Instead of joining the other two, Farley and Remo banked off to land on some nearby sagebrush.
“Our boys haven’t hunted with other hawks for a while,” said Mary Kate. “The males can be picky about their hunting partners until they settle in. S’all right.” She picked Farley up and they saw Hank do the same with Remo.