Bounty Hunter

by Donna Kauffman

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t answer.

  The person kept shouting at her, waving, yelling at her as if she were purposely not listening, not following orders. She saw it was her guide, the one who had lost control and let her raft flip, flinging her and the others into the river, and the others were with him; her pal Elaine and the two fellows they had met in Estes Park who had promised that a raft trip would be such fun! Oh, dear Lord, they were all there, safe, and she was down here, the wall crumbling into the river below her, the water just waiting, waiting to take her again.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, and tears slid down her cheeks, ran into her open mouth. Everything hurt now, her legs, her stomach, her chest whenever she breathed. Help, she prayed silently. Someone help me. In all her life she had never been so afraid. It was worse than the most awful nightmare.

  Then she heard a noise above. Abby gasped, then held her breath and listened. It was a voice, a man’s shout, directly overhead. She tipped her head back against the rock wall and saw a rope uncoil from the edge above and to the right. And then that dark-haired rafter swung himself over and down, sending a tiny avalanche cascading harmlessly past her and into the water. She shuddered, cringing at the splash. “Hurry,” she begged.

  “Hold on! I’m coming to get you,” he shouted, and she let her head fall back and didn’t open her eyes until she felt his hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t be scared,” he said softly. “You’re okay now.”

  She didn’t answer, couldn’t, just kept her teeth clamped down over her bottom lip and tried to stop shaking. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  He touched her face, pushing the hair and leaves and dirt back from her cheek with blunt, strong fingers. “It’s okay now,” he repeated, looking into her wide, terrified eyes. Poor thing, he thought, poor little thing, but aloud he said, “Are you hurt? Tell me where you’re hurt.”

  Abby was shaking too hard to answer, so he gently ran a hand across her arms, down her ribs on one side and up over the other. Then he crouched against the rock and ran his hand over both scratched and bruised legs.

  She felt cold as ice, he thought, and those wide, unblinking eyes worried him. He touched her cheek. “You’re all right. Nothing’s broken. You had a bad time, but I’m going to take care of you; I’m going to get you out of here. I know you’re scared, but it’s going to be okay.” He kept stroking her face and talking, ignoring her chattering teeth, her silence. “Okay, now, I want you to take hold of this rope and pull up. I’ll be under you here, pushing. Well get you right up, just one foot at a time, hand over hand—”

  She shock her head wildly, panic blinding her. She could not, would not, move, knowing she would slide back into the river like a stone.

  He understood. “Okay,” he answered, soothing her with his voice, his hand. “Hey, it’s all right. I’ll help you.”

  A tiny, hiccuping sob broke in her throat.

  He knew he had to get her out of there, and fast. She was shaking, trembling, and there was blood on her legs, on her face. Narrowing his eyes against the glare of sun on water, he scanned the river and the canyon wall; his practiced eye said there was no way out but up. Okay, then, he’d get her up there. Now.

  After wrapping the rope securely around one of his wrists, he leaned close, close enough for his breath to stir her hair. “Listen to me. All you have to do is put your arms around my neck. I’ll carry you up. You just hold on.” He half-turned around, offering his broad back. “Come on. Climb aboard.”

  “I can’t.” She stayed rigidly unmoving, but her face was wet with fresh tears that clung to her lashes before rolling down her cheeks.

  “Shhh,” he said softly. “It’s going to be all right. Here we go.” He locked his free hand around her wrist and pulled it over his shoulder to his chest and pushed his bulk out and away from the canyon wall. She screamed, but her other hand snapped into place around his neck, and her body clung to his, her legs wrapping around his hips like a vise.

  Reaching down behind, he scooted her higher on his back; she didn’t weigh anything at all, even soaking wet.

  “Damn,” he breathed, letting himself think for a split second about how hurt she could be, about what could have happened with that damn stupid amateur as a guide. He’d like to rip his damn ears off! And with anger fueling his muscles, he pulled them both up the slippery, crumbling rock face, finding invisible hand- and footholds, climbing with the steadily mounting exhilaration that only an avid climber can know.

  If she’d loosen that choke hold around his neck it would be a lot easier, he thought, struggling for breath as his heart sledgehammered against his ribs. “Ease up,” he gasped out, a mistake, because the sound of his voice made her tighten the noose of her grip.

  She wanted to hold on more and more tightly, glue herself to this solid, warm, living back, climb right under his skin and hide there safe and warm. He was so big, so strong, so powerful. His voice helped to drown out the roar of water in her ears. The hardness of his muscles was better than the hardness of rock. The heat of him was better than the white glare of the sun. Her whole world narrowed to the feel of him; the safety of him, the coil and release of his muscles, the smell of his sweat. “Help me, please,” she begged, the only words her chattering would allow.

  “You’re all right,” he repeated gently. “Okay. We’re almost there.”

  “Don’t let me go. Don’t drop me!”

  “I won’t, don’t worry.”

  “I’m scared,” she whispered against his neck.

  “I know. But you’re all right now. Look, there’s Mike, waiting to help you up.”

  Sure enough, another man appeared at the top of the canyon wall and reached an arm down toward the two edging up toward him. “Almost there!” he called encouragingly. “Come on … come on.”

  “I’m comin’, dammit. You just get ready to give her a hand up.”

  “Okay, reach on up here. I’m ready for you—”

  She tried, really tried. But she couldn’t loosen her grip. It was like letting go of the raft all over again, and this time she just couldn’t.

  “Listen, trust me. Just reach one hand up and he’ll have you safe on level—”

  The rest of his words were choked off by her stranglehold on his neck. “I can’t!”

  “Damn!” He dug his toes into a crevice the size of a matchstick and shifted her weight on his back. “Okay,” he said with a gasp, “at least ease off on that hold; I can’t breathe, let alone climb! Hear me?”

  She pushed her face against his neck. He could feel her shaking, trembling, but her voice was a little steadier, as if she had really heard him that time. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, relaxing her grip ever so slightly. Instinctively, her legs tightened around his hips. He grinned despite it all; this was one hell of a situation, and just when things had begun to look boring.

  Then he started up again, every muscle and sinew complaining. The rope had cut into one hand, and his blood made the rope slick. His grip slipped once, just a fraction, but enough to make him catch his breath between clenched teeth; he heard her crying softly into his hair. He struggled to within two feet of the top, where Mike could reach down, slip his hands under her arms, and lift her straight onto the grass. Then he hoisted himself up and over.

  “How did you do that, man?” Mike asked, his voice a croak. He was grinning, pumped up with the vicarious excitement of the climb. “Hell, Gallagher, you’re a damn mountain goat!”

  Jack Gallagher grinned back, his chest heaving, his heart pumping hard and strong. He bent his head to catch his breath, rested his palms against his thighs, and smiled up at the other man from beneath dark brows. “It was that or swim,” he said, laughing. “Now, cut the talk. How’s the girl?”

  She was sitting on the grass, arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees, her forehead burrowing into them.

  Jack dropped down beside her, thinking he would let her cry it out while he caught his breath, but she looked up and took his b
reath away completely when her eyes met his.

  “Thanks,” she said softly, offering a shaky little smile. “Not that I know how to thank someone who just saved my life.” She could barely speak, and the words escaped in tiny pops as she found and lost her voice. “Oh, Lord, I really thought I was going to die down there.” Her mouth quivered, and she shook her head, looking away from the gorge and into the trees behind them. “I thought I’d never see home again, my family …” Tears slid out of the corners of her eyes. Quickly, she reached up and brushed them away with the back of her hand.

  He caught her hand between both of his and rubbed hard, trying to bring some warmth back to her skin. “Listen, you might feel better if you went ahead and cried.”

  She shook her head hard, sending her wet hair flying around her pale face.

  “You had a bad time down there,” he said coaxingly, knowing she realized it all too well, but knowing also, as she might not, that fear like that would claw its way out one way or another. “A good cry might help.”

  “If I started I’d never stop.” She pulled her hand away and wrapped her arms around her knees again, trying to hold herself together. Her shoulders lifted and jumped with the shakes.

  Without a thought, he pulled his “river rat” T-shirt up over his head and down over hers. “Here, put your arms through this. It’s not dry, but it’s a lot drier than you are. And we need to get you walking, got to get your blood moving again. Can you stand up?”

  “I don’t know. I’m having—trouble with sitting; I’m not sure how—how good I’ll be at standing.”

  “Here, well give it a shot.”

  With Mike on one side and him on the other, they got her to her feet. Her knees buckled, and she sagged between them, shaky as a sapling in a high wind. Jack pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist. Her head came just to his shoulder, and her hair and face were cold against his warm skin. “I’d carry you, but if you can walk, it’s better. What do you think?”

  “I think I w-want to lie down and—and close my eyes and wake up to find this … was all a horrible dream.” Dry, ragged sobs were gathering in her throat, and her faint, determined little smile wobbled.

  “Later. Come on, let’s try again.” Holding her against his side, he took a few steps across the sunny glade, Mike trailing them. “There, that’s better.”

  “Yes—I think so.”

  “Good. Then let’s get this show on the road.”

  Gently, he swung her back to his side and started off on a slow walk, talking softly. “Look at these pines. Did you ever see a forest this thick, untouched? Can you smell them? And that’s wild blackberry, there. It’ll bloom soon, and the berries are sweet as sugar when you pick them early in the morning.…”

  The sun was now directly overhead: Noon. It warmed the top of her head, dried her hair to a mess of sandy tangles, and lay like a blanket on her narrow shoulders. Her sobs faded to an occasional harsh hiccup, and her step steadied.

  “This is an old Ute hunting trail,” he said, using his voice like a sedative. “A hundred years ago they walked here, following the deer and elk.”

  She looked around, seeing for the first time the trees, the thick underbrush, the light filtering down like golden dust. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she said. “It’s pretty.”

  She knew he wanted her to talk, to relax, and she felt bound to try. “I—I’m from Florida, and we—we have pines there too. Lots of people don’t know that. And there are palms, and—and live oaks, and groves. Oh, nothing’s as pretty as an orange grove at first light. So green, and the scent of orange blossoms in the warm air—” Tears closed her throat. “I—I thought I’d never see any of it again.”

  “You will. You’ve got my word on it!” He slid his hand down her arm until he caught hold of her hand. “You’re going to be fine.”

  They followed the trail as it wound through towering pines that blocked the sun.

  “Here. Lean on me,” he said when she stumbled over a root. He could feel her exhaustion, the residue of her fear. Not waiting for an answer, he wrapped one burly arm around her waist. “Hang on, sweet thing. We’re almost there.”

  When the trail narrowed and angled downward, he explained calmly, “I’ll go first. Mike’ll be right behind you. Don’t worry.”

  She stumbled again as she heard the rising roar of the water below. The canyon wall was not nearly as steep there. It was strewn with boulders and an occasional clump of trees that partially hid the view, but Abby knew instinctively that the river was waiting below.

  “No!” She jerked free of both men. “Don’t make me go near the river. I won’t go down there.”

  Jack stepped in front of her, blocking the sight of the drop with his body. “It’s okay. Our camp is just below here.”

  “No!” She spun and clambered back up the trail. her words thrown over her shoulder. “I don’t believe you!”

  The two men exchanged a quick glance. In three strides Jack was behind her. He grabbed her by the waist and held her as she struggled against him. “It’s all right. Trust me.”

  “Let me go!” She pushed against him with her hands and head, trying to get away and back up into the safety of the trees.

  “Sorry,” he said, and lifted her up in his arms, trapping her against his chest.

  She screamed, hit at him with her fists, kicked and struggled like a wildcat.

  He just held her tight and half-walked, half-slid the rest of the way down to the river’s edge.

  At the bottom, his flock of tourists was waiting near his raft. Giddy from their own thrilling ride down the rapids and the unnerving sight of the girl in the water, they crowded around, worried and curious, knowing it could have been any one of them in her place. “How is she? Is she all right? Gee, look at her—”

  “She’s fine. Everyone go get some lunch,” Jack commanded.

  Abby heard the talk, the hush, the sounds of the others hurrying toward camp. Opening one eye, she peeked up at her rescuer. That determined little smile trembled on her lips. “I made a damn fool of myself, didn’t I?”

  “Hell, no. You were fine.”

  “Fine?” She blushed. “I was a wimp. Screaming. Crying. Oh, I never do anything like that, really. I just wish you’d never seen it.”

  “It doesn’t matter—”

  “It does to me.” She released her hold on his neck and looked away. “You can put me down now.”

  He held her in his arms for another second, then set her down gently. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. It was a natural reaction; you were scared, wet, cold.” He rocked back on his heels, studying her. “And you’re still scared, wet, and cold. Let me get you some food, some warm clothes—”

  “I can manage now. I’m fine. Really.”

  “Sure?” he asked, knowing better.

  “Sure,” she insisted.

  He shook his head, grabbed his waterproof pack from the bottom of the raft, and led the way to camp.

  “Do I look all right?” she asked, tugging her fingers through her hair.

  “Why? Having your picture taken for the cover of Vogue?”

  “Sports Illustrated,” she teased back.

  His grin lit the sharp planes and angles of his face.

  For the first time, Abby really looked at him. He was exceptionally handsome, his face and body carved by sun, wind, and water into a harsh ruggedness. There was no slack to the man, no softness; even his eyes were the gray of rock, of granite. Dark brows, dark hair, dark glint in his eyes. But he had a Tom Sawyer grin.

  “Thanks,” she said, biting her lips. “Thanks for everything.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m just sorry it ever happened. But take my advice and go easy on yourself this afternoon.”

  “Oh, I intend to. I’m going to take a walk in the woods, sit in the sun, read a book—”

  “I was thinking more of a good, solid sleep: A shot of Scotch and out.”

  “But I’m fine. Really—”

 
Her words were cut short by a screech from across the bridge that spanned the river there at Renner’s Ford.

  “Abigail, oh, Abby! Are you all right? Oh, Abby, you had us so scared!”

  Elaine came racing over the bridge, grabbed her, and hugged her tightly. She was followed by the guide who had been responsible for the accident and the two young men from Estes Park. “Heavens, I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again! Wasn’t that awful? Terrible? We got out right away and then I couldn’t find you and I didn’t know what to do, and I kept imagining all these terrible things, but there wasn’t anything we could do”—she glanced at her three companions for confirmation and raced on—“so we climbed up and followed the river, and my knees are all scraped, and I’ve got a thousand blisters, and then we saw you down there on the rocks. How did you ever get out of there? Jeff thought they’d have to call in a helicopter or something.”

  “He saved me,” she said, turning her pale, heart-shaped face to Jack. “I—I don’t even know your name.”

  “Jack Gallagher.”

  “Jack Gallagher,” she repeated, feeling her throat close with stupid tears. She shook her head, blinking hard, and held out her hand. “I’m Abby Clarke, and this is my friend Elaine Shaw, and these are—”

  He let go of her hand, finished with introductions. His pack was heavy, and he was hungry. And he had something to take care of first. “Excuse me. I’ve got work to do. And, Jeff—I want to talk to you.” He led the other guide away, then turned and called back over his shoulder, “Take care of yourself, hear me?”

  Abby nodded. She watched him stride away. There was dust in his dark hair, and his broad back was scratched and cut.

  That’s my fault, she thought suddenly, feeling again the slip of loose gravel, her rising hysteria. Sickness welled in her stomach, and the world spun.

  “Are you okay?” Elaine demanded. “Gee, I bet you were scared to death! I would have died, just died! When we saw you across the river, I almost fainted! Didn’t you hear us telling you to climb? We were screaming our fool heads off, and you didn’t even try.”