The Apprentice

by Jana Barkley

  “John and Karen saved us all a table so we could sit together.”

  “Does Hank know?”

  Mary Kate grinned. “If he doesn’t, we’ll tell him where to go.”

  Sam laughed. “As if Hank is going to go anywhere he’s told.”

  “Where am I supposed to go?”

  “Told you,” said Sam, whipping around to see him. As usual, he’d snuck up on them, though Sam could never accuse Hank of sneaking. It wasn’t his style. But of course he’d heard her remark—the look of mild amusement on his face told her so, and she laughed so hard she almost cried. Then Mary Kate joined in.

  “I can see I’m in for it tonight,” he said, but the comment was good-natured.

  He wasn’t wearing a suit, but a sport coat over a form-fitting turtleneck and a decent pair of jeans. Sam approved of his taste and had to force herself not to stare. It was not the first time she’d been amazed he wasn’t pursued by women more than he was. Yet his mood, if it took a turn for the worst, could distance the hardiest soul in a moment. She’d seen enough flips to the dark side of his enigmatic nature to grasp his propensity for that. Still, it hadn’t kept her heart immune. Too bad.

  Thinking of other women and Hank made her wonder about Tasha. She’d been too muddled out in the field after Gally flew to bother thinking about her. Tasha must have slunk away with someone else after the trials, because she hadn’t been hovering around Hank in her usual way at the end.

  John and Karen came in and waved them over to a table near the middle.

  “Hope this is all right,” said Karen. “This was about all that was left when we got here this afternoon.”

  “S’fine,” said Mary Kate, giving her a hug.

  More people arrived, and Sam enjoyed the energy of all these falconers in the same room. The steady hum of voices as they talked about what their birds did in the field that day wrapped around her, and it felt right to be here. She had become one of them.

  Their group of friends parked their belongings at the table and milled around like everyone else. She looked over at Hank. He’d been talking to Mike and his wife, a short woman she had never met before, but now he was staring at her. It was impossible not to color, and she had to look away with a grin. It was invitation enough, and he was next to her before she could recover.

  “So, is this the radio station PR person’s official uniform for such events?”

  Her shy smile grew wide and she glowed. “Yes, sir. And I’ll have you know the little black dress can accomplish more successful negotiations in a room full of male executives than the best-made flow charts out there.”

  “Really? And what are you negotiating tonight, Ms. Leyton?” He was charming and good at playing along.

  “Oh, that’s privileged information, Mr. Gerard.” Was she flirting with him? Something deep inside begged her to stop, but the look on his face made her throw all caution to the wind.

  “Then any red-blooded male is sure to be in danger. I’d better watch myself tonight.” His eyes drank her in from head to toe and came to rest on her face. Then, scanning the room for the bar, he leaned down to her.

  “I think I could use a drink. How about you?”

  She smiled and said yes, a glass of wine would be great. His long, languid stride held her gaze as he walked away. There was not an ounce of fat on the man. He reminded her of a large cat, able to be deliberate and spontaneous with equal agility. The alarm went off in her head again. She told herself to let it go, for his sake as well as hers.

  For the first time in her mental wrestling over her feelings for him, she began to see her secret could harm him if he did care for her. How could she be so selfish to allow this flirtation? It was a seemingly innocent act, but it could make him prey to feelings that, if she was honest, she hoped he shared. She watched him stand at the bar and chat, a hand in his front jeans pocket and at ease with everything around him. Sharing field stories, no doubt. It touched her. Never in a million years would she want to be responsible for hurting him.

  She turned back to the table and discovered Mary Kate watching her. Her friend found her place next to Sam and they both sat down.

  Mary Kate’s eyes were warm and laughing as she rested her head on her hand. “I’d never have thought when I hooked you two up at the mini-meet I’d get to see my two dearest friends fall for each other.”

  Sam colored hot and checked to see if anyone around them had heard her.

  “Mary Kate—”

  “Don’t worry, darlin’,” she said, placing a hand on Sam’s cheek for a brief moment. “I’m not sayin’ a word.”

  “You don’t understand,” Sam said, fumbling for words. “You see, I can’t—”

  “I hope red is okay?” Hank said as he walked up.

  Sam turned to take the glass from him. “Perfect.” She felt out of breath.

  As Hank took a seat on her other side, Sam stole a sideways glance at Mary Kate, who winked and turned toward their dinner companions.

  The universe was conspiring to make her truthful, sooner rather than later. If she were to tell Mary Kate her secret, it wouldn’t be long before she’d have to tell Hank. The easy, amiable atmosphere she had enjoyed since they’d walked into the room was replaced by fear. She was sick of living with it in whatever form it took. Fear of losing Chance. Fear of being alone. Fear of dying. It was the stinking albatross around her neck, and she would never be free of it.

  She took a big gulp of wine, wishing for the blur of an early buzz to get her through the evening. How different this night would have been if she hadn’t fallen for him. She’d be having the time of her life with friends who mattered more to her than anyone she’d called a friend before. Sam shook off these thoughts, drank some more, and forced her attention to the people at her table. Once past tonight, she could move on. She’d have a wounded, lonely heart, but no one else need be caught in the wake of her departure.

  “I think the real congratulations should go to this little lady,” said Mike, who was sitting next to his wife, Natalie. With a start, Sam realized they were talking about her.

  “Six-pound jack at her first meet—and with a male red tail. I still remember back at the mini-meet. This little woman comes marching in, having passed her test, and proceeds to tell Hank and me how she’s already built her mew. And she had pictures!”

  Karen and John hadn’t heard this part of the story.

  “Oh, my God, you did?” Karen asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “You should have seen Hank’s face in the truck. Could’ve fried eggs on his head he was so steamed.”

  “Give it a rest,” said Hank, not at all upset.

  “Tell me the truth,” Mike said, taunting him, “If she hadn’t brought those pictures, you’d have written her off.”

  Hank played with his wine glass, a knowing smile on his face. “No one in his right mind would have written Sam off. “

  The table rang with laughter and Sam raised her eyebrows.

  “Well, here’s to a great week,” said Mike, raising his glass, and the others did too. “Here’s to the game that was caught.”

  “To the best damn falcon in the sky trials,” added John, nodding at Hank.

  “Here, here,” Mary Kate piped up merrily, “and to good single malt scotches.”

  “And to the best friends anyone could ever wish for,” said Sam with feeling.

  “May we always be so blessed,” Karen chimed in.

  “You guys are gonna make me cry,” Mary Kate said. They all laughed, and Sam wrapped her arms around her in a hug.

  Serving staff began to clear their table, and the club president announced he was ready to present awards. As they turned their chairs to face the front of the room, Sam found it easy to slip into the intimate warmth of Hank’s arm as it came to rest on the back of her seat. It felt like the most natural reaction in the world. The clean, fresh scent of him drew her nearer still until she remembered there were others in the room. What would they think? B
ut to pull away from him now would be to tug on the silent cord that had bound them together since the hood-training session with Chance and perhaps, risk breaking it. She tried to focus on the awards being given away to different club members, but when Hank spoke to her or the others, his baritone voice thrilled her with its richness, tempting her to imagine those deep tones murmuring sweet endearments close to her ear.

  A nudge from Mary Kate and some excited expression from their friends at the table finally pulled her senses back in focus. The last major award of the night, the Sky Trials, was about to be presented. The president announced, “I’m going to ask Tasha Marshall to join me up here with the results of the sky trials.”

  Turning her head to see Hank’s face, she found him gazing at her, his eyes warm and curious. She raised her eyebrows in affectionate expectation of the results, but he grinned and shook his head. Of course he didn’t care about awards. But everyone at their table was poised to celebrate if Hank won.

  Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. “Were you disqualified by letting me call Gally to the glove?”

  He gave her a tender smile. “No. The judging stopped after Gally made his last pass and I called him to the lure.”

  “Good,” she said with enthusiasm, earning a sigh of mild exasperation from him.

  “We’re going to start with third place,” said the president. He held up a small crystal trophy that was quite modern and attractive. “Third place goes to Daryl Anderson with his gyr/peregrine tiercel, Ranger.”

  Applause erupted at a table to their right. Daryl rose to go up and receive his award amidst back slaps and hoots. Tasha was stunning, dressed in her own version of the little black dress. It figured. Long and leggy, she could pull it off. She handed Daryl the trophy, posed with him for a photograph, and gave him a hug before he returned to his table.

  “Second place for the sky trials goes to…” the president paused, sparking off jibes from the front and comments from hecklers around the room. “Let’s see…I think I misplaced my reading glasses.” They all laughed. He waved them down to silence. “All right, here it is. Second place goes to Grant Marshall and his gyr/peregrine tiercel, Talon.”

  The whole room reacted with applause. Sam caught her friends exchanging excited, knowing glances. If Talon won second, then first place must go to…she tried to read Hank’s face, but he had become impervious to them all.

  Grant stalked up to the stage, took the trophy from his wife, and planted a large kiss on her. The audience laughed, but Tasha didn’t seem to mind the attention; she straightened her dress before the photo was taken of her and her husband.

  “We have a special situation here tonight,” the president continued, and the crowd quieted down in expectation. “You see, the club has a special award it gives out from time to time. It’s known as the Lifetime Achievement Award for a single member’s contribution to the sport of falconry, especially falconry as we practice it in California. Tonight, the club would like to honor a man who has done precisely that for the past thirty-six years. He has flown and hunted with about every species of raptor legal to use; he has donated countless hours to the early work of the Peregrine Fund, as well as given them the use of one of his falcons; and he has taught quite a few apprentices over the years who have gone on to be some of our finest falconers. Ladies and gentleman, it gives me great pleasure to bestow the honor of Lifetime Achievement in falconry and first place in this year’s annual sky trials to Hank Gerard and his passage tiercel peregrine, Galileo.”

  The room exploded with applause. Sam, overwhelmed with admiration, reached out and grabbed Hank’s hand. His focus fell to her and only her for those few seconds, embarrassing her with his choice to ignore them all only to look at her.

  “Go.” She gave him a nudge.

  Mary Kate grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him out of his chair. They all stood and clapped until their hands hurt while Hank walked up to stand by the president, who in turn guided him over to Tasha. As the applause died down and the crowd took their seats, Sam saw the photographer, Bob Halloran, run up front and begin taking pictures. Tasha held the trophy with Hank, and they both smiled, although Hank seemed nonplussed over all the fuss. He started to leave the stage, but Tasha grabbed his arm and turned him to plant a big kiss on his cheek. At least she hadn’t French kissed him. Sam sat back annoyed as a few catcalls echoed around the room.

  Again, Hank tried to leave the stage, but the president stopped him this time.

  “Hank, we have a special treat for you and the club. If you wouldn’t mind standing up here…?”

  So, there he was, stuck next to Tasha in front of an audience he had no desire to perform for. Sam could see the muscles clenching in his jaw and the effort it took for him to stay. For a moment, he glanced over at her, and she gave him her sweetest smile of encouragement.

  “Hank,” continued the president, “when we saw the judges had picked you as winner today, Tasha and a bunch of us put some images together, sort of a retrospective of your career in falconry. We’d like to share them now.”

  The lights dimmed and slides began to appear on a screen. There were pictures in black and white of a tow-headed teenager with a red-tailed hawk on his glove and a jack hanging from his other hand. A young man with a sheepish grin and a shock of hair hanging in his face—he looked exactly the way she had imagined.

  The pictures continued into modern times, marking the change of fashion, and sparked bursts of laughter from the audience. Pictures of Hank with almost any bird imaginable were shown, and it gave Sam a true grasp of the breadth of his experience. She was damned lucky to have him for a sponsor.

  Then came a picture that was not so old. It showed Hank with Gally on the glove and a beaming Tasha with her arm around his neck. They both seemed happy. There was another shot of them together in the field, laughing and clowning around. Sam sought him on the stage. Tasha had slipped her arm around his waist, but it was too dark for Sam to see if he had his arm around her. On the other hand, did it really matter? They had been in love, so of course there were pleasant memories. Even so, the pictures of their connection gave her some concern.

  The two of them still looked good together. Would Hank’s nature ever let him stop caring for someone he’d once loved even if she was married to another man? Sam remembered the day he had broken the telemetry antenna and cut himself at the mere mention of Tasha. But Tasha’s antics and desperate bids for his attention told her that connection was over. Hank had said as much, and she knew him well enough to know he said what he meant—always. It was the expression on his face in those pictures when he’d been in love grabbing at her heart. And she wanted, needed that look aimed solely at her for the rest of her days. She was caught in this connection as surely as a hawk on a trap.

  A suffocating sense of isolation descended upon her as she sat there in the dark. In a few days, she’d be home and all this would be over. In a few weeks or months, she might not be able to continue practicing falconry. In a year…She loved him too much to drag him through her uncertain future. For his sake she had to find a way to break free.

  The room blurred. She blinked hard to make it clear again. It was no use. The only excuse she could think of to get herself out of there before the lights came back on was to excuse herself for the restroom.

  Hood-shy: When a falcon avoids the hood out of fear or temper, usually from poor training

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The door to the banquet room cracked open and she slipped through into a long hallway. A full wall of windows on one side stared out onto the silent, black night. The lights were dim there, and the restrooms were at the end of the hall. Sam walked to the opposite end, which then wrapped around a corridor and continued down one side of the building, out of view of anyone else who might be headed for the powder room.

  She thought of Chance back in her room, perched with a leg tucked and asleep by now. That fierce, indomitable spirit had learned to trust her even though she had brought
his world to an abrupt halt—like cancer had done to her. He was strong, resilient, and he would never concede defeat when it came to survival. Chance had become more confident and effective as a hunter in his altered existence. Perhaps this disease had made more of her, too. And like Chance, who would be freed to live his life again with his new skills, she too would be cut loose at some point, but to what? What would she have to take with her from her time as a falconer to carry her through the days to come? Chance had been worth the lie in the beginning, but so much had changed since the first day when they’d taken him off the trap.

  It had been selfish to think she could keep Chance longer to make herself happier or avoid the threat of loneliness over the spring and summer months when hunting season ended. Even if there was a possibility she would be able to continue on and hunt with him again next season, as Hank wanted her to, the odds of her recovery weren’t certain enough to justify keeping him.

  It was time to face the music in one form or another. She could start by pulling herself away from Hank, precluding any possibility he might fall for her. That was a kindness she could not extend to herself any longer, but perhaps it would save him the hurt and embarrassment laying in store if she didn’t. She’d keep the relationship professional, sponsor to apprentice. And after a few days or weeks, depending on how things went and if he was sufficiently civil, she’d brace herself for the worst and drop the full story on him.

  She felt ashamed. In the beginning, her resolve to handle all of this on her own terms because she was the one with cancer and might die had seemed right, as if it were her due. How utterly wrong she had been. She’d never thought of herself as a selfish person, but here again this disease had ripped away the illusion and given her a truer picture of what she had done.