by Jana Barkley
Something shifted in his expression and his whole body, and she felt more than saw him relax into the window he was leaning against. The great cloud of tension suffocating them was gone.
“So, you’ve really been sick,” he said in a weary voice. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“I have a problem with anemia from time to time,” she said, wondering how far into this she should go, but the thought of him upset again if she told him the whole truth and taking Chance away from her would not let her venture more. “So I get run down and have to take medication for it.”
His expression melted; he looked gentle now, and somewhat embarrassed.
“You need to eat more red meat.”
Her soft laugh filled the silent corner of the restaurant, and it seemed to do him good.
“Why didn’t you ask me outright? And what happened this morning in the lobby to make you think I was a drug addict or alcoholic?”
Her words made him wince and turn back to the view outside. When he spoke, it made her think he had been hashing out this speech for some time.
“You said something in the field today I should respond to. You deserve an explanation.”
She stepped closer to watch his face, which he tried to avert from her.
“When you said, ‘I’m not Tasha,’ it was a wakeup call for me.”
Sam colored at the remembered accusation. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, I’m glad you did.” He turned back to the window. Taking an audible breath, he plunged on. “She and I lived together for two years. A lot happened between us back then. Our relationship was good until she started drinking. It got to the point I could tell when we were going to fight by the time of day she started indulging. She hooked up with her husband, Grant—the one you were talking to this morning—at a meet, after she’d been way over her limit.” He shook his head in disgust. “She came to the field meet with me and left with him.”
He searched her face. “She wanted to come home with me, but I told her to get out. I guess she’s been trying to worm her way back in ever since. Pretty pathetic. It’s not easy to talk about this, but not because of any feelings I had for her. It’s just so Goddam embarrassing. It’s been over for years, but she won’t leave me alone. You’d think her husband would stop it, but he’s worthless.”
“Hank—”
“Let me finish.” He turned full on to face her. “You said you weren’t Tasha, and I’m here to tell you I know you’re not—you’re better than she is in every way.”
Sam was taken aback, but kept silent.
“From the first day I met you at those Scottish Games, and saw how you—a complete outsider with no knowledge of raptors—held yourself still with that damned, mal-imprinted goshawk mangling your hand when most ordinary folk would have run around screaming senselessly, I knew you were something special. Then you drove out in what was for you, I’m sure, the middle of nowhere to prove to us you had what it took to be a falconer, built your own mew before you should have, and had the guts to justify yourself to a bunch of seasoned falconers. But even if all of that had never happened, the way you are with your hawk, that ballsy little red tail who’d sooner foot you and fly off than settle down to be handled by a human, is enough to show me you are head and shoulders above her.”
He leaned in closer to her. “You want to know why I didn’t have you hood train your hawk?”
She nodded with energy.
“If it had been anybody else, I’d have made them throw a hood on the hawk from day one. Tiercels are footy and more temperamental than a lot of the females, and the spirit in this one told me he’d be a handful.” He laughed. “And I’ll bet you never saw him as a difficult bird or thought he gave you any problems.”
She thought back to her early days with Chance, the repeated bating, hackles up, and then the exhausting hours hanging out together until one day he had accepted her. He’d footed her once. It had hurt, but she had worked harder at trying to get him to accept her hand.
She shrugged. “I had no other experience for comparison.”
The warmth of his smile melted her insides. “Perhaps I wasn’t as honest as I should have been,” he said. “I wanted to see how you would do with that hawk on your own, without hoods, without a cookbook of ‘Do this, then that.’ You have an innate ability to feel into animals, Sam. It’s made me respect you from the beginning, and I’d trust you with any of my birds. I’m sorry as hell I wasn’t straight with you,” he said, looking down at her. “To think you two could still be lost out there, maybe worse, because of my stubborn, stupid pride—”
“Hank, don’t,” she said, placing a hand on his arm.
He took her hand in his, making her heart race. “I trust you, Sam. I’ll always trust you.”
It happened before Sam knew what was occurring. He wrapped his arms around her in an embrace, a hug that said everything was good between them, and they were friends again. She responded with her arms around his middle, but somewhere deep inside she felt a small panic over the warmth spreading throughout her body.
They separated, and he stood back and scrutinized her. “You need to eat.”
She was relieved his attention was on her health and not on her feelings. She agreed with a weary smile.
Though the kitchen was closed, Hank in his won’t-take-no-for-an-answer way of doing things managed to get food from the kitchen and sent Sam to her room with a meal large enough for both her and Mary Kate.
The food was a blessing, and both women devoured their repast in bed. Later, with the lights out and listening to Mary Kate’s regular breathing, Sam lay exhausted but wide awake, recounting over and over in her mind his smiling face and the feeling of his arms around her. His words still echoed in her ears: I trust you Sam. I’ll always trust you.
It was a clenched fist around her heart. How long would he trust her when he found out she had more than anemia? When he found out she might be dying?
Make in: The falconer’s slow approach to a hawk when she is down on quarry
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sam woke to an empty room, empty except for the ruffling of Chance’s feathers as he preened next to her bed. Mary Kate had managed to sneak out with her talky Harris hawk without waking her. She had needed the sleep.
The real gift of the morning was no nausea. Maybe this was the ticket, to eat a lot late at night. She’d have to try that again.
Her limbs ached as she rolled up out of bed, no doubt from the hours she’d spent cramped in the car. She grinned as she took in Chance’s appearance. He was still covered in dried blood from yesterday’s kill and needed a bath.
“Hey, buddy, I’m headed for a shower. Then we’ll get you out to clean yourself up.” He acknowledged her with those fierce red tail eyes and returned to preening.
The shower felt incredible. The face greeting her in the bathroom mirror was a whole lot healthier than the one from the day before. No rings under the eyes. It was enough to make a woman smile.
Stepping outside the room with Chance on her glove, she found another surprise waiting: blue sky from horizon to horizon and a warm sun shining down. And mounds of pure, white snow, fresh fallen from the night before, glittering in the morning light. It lifted her out of the remnants of regret dogging her heels, and Chance, too, seemed affected. He took in his surroundings with avid curiosity. Remembering where she had trapped him, she realized this was the first time he’d seen snow.
A lot of birds were out in the yard, mostly hawks. Glancing over at another familiar perch, she saw Remo standing with one foot tucked, his feathers fluffed out due to the chill in the air. Most of the falcons were gone, including Gally. The long wingers must have gotten up at the crack of dawn to go flying.
Hank had to be worn out from yesterday, but in true Hank fashion, he never let anything get in the way of what his birds needed. And today, Gally needed to fly. She could hear Hank’s voice saying just that, and she felt her face grow warm at the sound of it in her mi
nd. Still, she would miss him. It would have been wonderful to see the little falcon hunt.
Chance jumped to his perch after she tied him in. He was not a great bather; he treated his forays into the bath pan as something secretive. But he needed fresh water, so she hoped for the best. A chunk of ice slid out of the pan when she turned it over; yesterday’s bath water had frozen overnight. The water spigot was not frozen, and she was able to fill a bucket and then his pan. The sight of a yard full of hawks under a brilliant winter sun, fluffing their feathers to soak up the growing warmth, made her pause to feel it, too, and appreciate the peace of the morning.
“That looks like one happy red tail,” a friendly voice said. John sauntered over to the weathering yard fence, and she stepped outside the gate to join him.
“Mary Kate and I just got back with the van,” he said. “Battery took a charge, so we’ll see if it sticks.”
Her roommate was walking their way. John called out to her.
“Yeah, had to dig the thing out of the snow,” he continued. “Boy, you’d think some people’d find a better place to park their vehicles.”
Mary Kate made a face at him and winked at Sam.
“Wait a minute,” said Sam, searching the yard, “aren’t we missing someone? Where’s Chelsea?” She’d forgotten about her until this morning.
“She’s interviewing for a job back East,” said John. She’s going to release Pandora in April, and if she gets the job, she’ll move.”
“She’s not going to give up falconry, is she?” Sam asked, worried.
“Not on your life,” John declared. “The girl would sooner cut off an arm.”
Sam was relieved. She knew the feeling.
“So, is ‘himself’ back from hawking?” asked Mary Kate.
“I haven’t seen him, yet,” Sam said, and John shook his head.
“C’mon, let’s get some breakfast.”
The two women went to the restaurant and parked themselves in a large booth with a great view. It reminded Sam of being there with Hank the night before and watching him stand by the window in the moonlight.
“What did you guys talk about last night?” Mary Kate asked, a sly grin on her face.
Sam’s amusement grew. “We straightened things out.” She leaned closer over the table. “Please don’t say anything about this.”
Mary Kate raised her hand. “Scout’s honor. I don’t want a replay of yesterday.”
They both laughed.
“He thought I was having problems with drugs or alcohol.”
Mary Kate almost spit out her coffee. It seemed unfair to laugh at Hank’s expense, but it was impossible not to.
“Oh, kiddo…” Mary Kate wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “Well, maybe that explains why he was so happy this morning.”
Sam smiled and raised her eyebrows.
“You think he’d be tired. God knows I didn’t want to crawl out of bed before dawn to get my van, but there he was with his ‘good mornin’ and asking how I was, how you were. He seemed very pleased I let you sleep in.”
“So was I.”
Well, this was good news. Today had started off better than yesterday. She devoured her food, unaware they had company until the spot on the bench next to her was occupied.
“How’d you do, boss?” Mary Kate asked through a mouthful of toast.
“Caught a hen mallard.” He glanced over at Sam then took out his reading glasses to peruse the menu he must have swiped on the way into the restaurant.
“Wow,” Sam said. “I wish I could have been there to see it.”
“You needed to sleep, ma’am,” was all he said, still scanning the menu, but the corners of his mouth turned up with amused interest. His energy, his presence, and even his scent next to her on the bench made her world feel right. The pungent aroma of sage clung to his coat and jeans, evoking pictures of him and the falcon out hawking earlier in the morning.
“Was the snow deep out there?”
“Only in the higher elevations. We went to some bottomland on a farmer’s ranch with a pond. Part of the water was frozen, and the ducks had only a small area of water. It was a perfect setup for the falcons.”
“Who’d you go with?” Mary Kate asked the question Sam wanted to but didn’t.
He named several men she didn’t know. “The Marshalls showed up later, too,” he said, his tone brusque at the mention of their name.
“Did anyone else catch something?”
“Dave Conejos caught a duck. After that, the ducks high-tailed it away from the pond.”
“So, I guess the others were out of luck.”
“Yep,” Hank grinned.
Mary Kate raised her eyes in a mischievous glance at Sam. “Too bad for them.”
“We were there first.” Hank sounded matter-of-fact, and then chuckled. “Grant said he’s saving Talon for the sky trials tomorrow.” It was the first time she’d seen him join in the conversation with honest humor, rather than throwing out his surly, disinterested jabs.
Mary Kate snorted. “Maybe you should be saving Gally. He might get worn out.”
Hank tried hard not to laugh out loud.
Sam thought about it. “Okay, guys. Remember, I’m new to this game.”
Hank smiled at her. “During the season, if you fly a long wing, you pretty much do it every day. If you don’t, the bird’s performance suffers. They get out of shape, and their behavior gets more unpredictable.”
“So, Grant’s not doing his bird any favors by not flying him.”
“No,” Hank chuckled. “But he knows better. I don’t know why the hell he said that.”
“You’re still flying Gally in the trials?”
His enigmatic smile took over again, and he sat back from his empty plate to gaze out the window.
“It’s been a long time since Gally’s been in the sky trials,” said Mary Kate.
He nodded.
“How long?” she asked, watching him with mirthful eyes.
He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Mary Kate gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, Lord, another early morning. I guess I’ll have to get up at the crack of dawn to see this spectacle. I haven’t been to the sky trials in years—too frickin’ cold that early in the morning.”
“You can sleep after the meet,” said Sam, earning a kick under the table.
Hank turned to Sam. “What are your plans for the afternoon?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t have any. I was waiting for you.”
“The lure flying competition is in a hour or so,” said Mary Kate.
“I want you to see that,” he said. “Get your coat and field shoes and meet me at the weathering yard, okay?”
At her nod of assent, Hank picked up his check and left them.
“Are you coming?”
Mary Kate yawned. “Unlike some people who got to sleep in, I think I might take a little nap.”
Sam laughed. “All right. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Hank was standing by the weathering yard, resting his lanky form against the fence. In his faded jeans and sheepskin-lined jacket, all he needed was a Western hat, and he would have looked like a real cowboy. Tom, the weathering yard warden, was bundled up against the cold morning, blowing steam with his breath as they spoke to each other.
Walking up to join them, she noticed, as cold as it was, Chance was in his bath pan and bathing with such vigor it made her laugh. The sound of her voice caught Hank’s attention. He turned toward her with a smile.
“Well, that’s a first,” she said, pointing. “At home, he’s a secret bather.”
“S’bout time,” said Hank. “I wouldn’t have such a dirty hawk.”
Tom guffawed, and she threw Hank a playful look. It was a good day if Hank was in the mood to joke.
“Six-pound jack, huh?” said Tom.
Sam nodded, noticing out of the corner of her eye Hank was standing there, watching her. She tried not to color.
Grant Marshall came into the
yard, carrying Talon, his face stern, devoid of the languid, unconcerned expression he usually wore. Tom waved, but Grant didn’t respond as he walked past with his falcon.
Tom plastered a big smile on his face and started to mutter. “Cocky, smart ass, mother—”
Hank’s quiet laughter stopped him, and Sam began to believe Tom had the most colorful vocabulary she’d heard at the meet. He turned to her and apologized, making her laugh, too.
“I’d offer to take your place for the morning,” said Hank, more serious now, “but I’ve got to take this one to the lure flying.”
“Yeah, I’ll get you next year, Gerard,” he said, winking at Sam.
Hank steered her to the parking lot and his car. “You okay riding with me?” he asked, turning to check her reaction as if it might not be.
She was puzzled. “Of course.”
He opened the door of his black SUV for her, and she climbed in.
“Did you get the map to the location from the registration booth?”
“I know where it’s at,” he said, as they pulled out onto the highway. “They might have the sky trials there tomorrow, too, only they can’t officially say where it will be.”
“Why not?”
“Unfair advantage. If some of the long wingers knew ahead of time where the trials were going to be held, they might fly their birds out there beforehand. I don’t think it makes much difference, but I don’t make the rules.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, and then he spoke. “I didn’t think to say it last night, but I’m real proud of you and that hawk of yours. Even though I wasn’t there to see it, I’m sure it was a great flight.”
Sam explained how Chance had been dragged after winging-over and catching the rabbit. He nodded with interest, enjoying the story.
“I don’t know what your plans are after the season ends, but I’d keep hawking as long as you can until spring. Get as much experience with this bird as possible.”
Sam frowned. “I was talking with John and Karen a few weeks back. They insist their apprentices release their hawks each spring after the hunting is done and catch a new one in the fall.”