Strawberry Hill

by Catherine Anderson

  Yep, he just needed to chill, as Kennedy was fond of saying. Why risk getting Vickie’s back up when her next prank might be something as silly as putting salt in the sugar bowl? Even if Vickie was deliberately trying to bedevil Slade, she would soon run out of phobias, because he had only two, the second one being an irrational fear of snakes.

  * * *

  • • •

  Wyatt got back to base camp at around nine thirty that night. Domino came charging out to greet him with happy barks, which Wyatt couldn’t hear, but even in the gloaming, he could see each jerk of the canine’s body. He swung out of the saddle and bent over to pet his dog. Domino hated when Wyatt went places without him, but sometimes it was necessary. Today had been one of those times. Having to stay in the truck most of the afternoon wouldn’t have been fun for an animal who was happiest when he could run and play.

  Wyatt was surprised to see the central fire still blazing. And what a welcome sight it was, not only because the leaping orange and yellow flames looked beautiful against the sooty backdrop of the forest, but because he was cold and tired. He led Shanghai to the tack area, removed the pack of booze from where it was draped over his rump, and then set himself to the task of seeing to the horse’s well-being and comfort.

  Before walking into camp, where the guys were all congregated by the fire to stay warm while they talked and drank beer, Wyatt stopped to collect two bottles of whiskey, which he’d bought in Mystic Creek for himself. Once guests arrived, Wyatt would make a polite appearance by the fire at night, but then he’d escape to the privacy of his tent and enjoy a couple of drinks in blissful solitude. He avoided groups of people as much as he could. It was too draining to attempt to read lips fast enough to keep up with all the conversations. So he socialized for only a short while before he escaped. Sometimes he read. Other times he listened to music; the habit drove his brother, Kennedy, nuts, but contrary to what hearing people believed, Wyatt could, in his own special way, listen to music. Nothing relaxed him more than to plug his headphones into his phone and play songs with the volume up as far as it would go. Then he’d just lie back on his bed with the phone on his chest and his palm pressed over it. He could feel the music that way, and he could entertain himself for hours trying to imagine the tunes. What he created in his mind probably wasn’t anything like what other people heard, but that didn’t matter. He enjoyed music in his own way, and after two drinks, he could almost dance to the beat.

  Wyatt circled around the central fire to reach his quarters. He rarely took bottles of his own liquor to the common area. Slade bought everything the guests needed, and Wyatt wasn’t about to provide an open bar for strangers. He was happy to share with Slade or other camp employees when they visited his tent, but his generosity ended there. He’d learned the hard way that paying guests came into this situation believing that everything was complimentary. He got that. They paid big bucks to have fun at camp, and they tended to help themselves to everything in sight without thinking much about it. Wyatt’s private stash of pricey sipping whiskey was not up for grabs.

  Once inside his tent, he put his saddlebags under the cot, set his whiskey in a corner, and was about to connect his cell phone to the solar charger when he thought of Erin. Again. He’d thought of little else as he’d come up the mountain after enjoying such a nice time over dinner together.

  He wrote, “I’m back at camp. Didn’t get lost in the dark. Didn’t go to sleep and fall off my horse. Safe and sound. Thanks for joining me for dinner. It was nice getting better acquainted with you.”

  There, he thought. He’d done the polite thing by texting her, and nothing in the message hinted that being with her tonight had fired up all his jets. That was his business and only his business. He would never act upon it. He had sworn off women, and he meant to keep it that way.

  He was trying to get the USB cord inserted into the bottom of his phone when it vibrated in his hand. On the screen, a notification told him that Erin had texted back. He smiled slightly and opened the screen to her message.

  “So glad you made it. Dinner was wonderful. Good food. Good company. I enjoyed getting better acquainted with you, too. It’s so awesome that you taught yourself to speak so clearly. I’m impressed by your determination and all the time you invested to reach that goal.”

  Wyatt’s smile deepened. Having worked with deaf children, Erin probably understood almost as well as he did how hard he’d worked to accomplish what he had. Most people failed to understand that he’d done something truly remarkable.

  His phone vibrated again and a second text from her popped up. “We aren’t really right for each other, but I think we have a shot at being great friends.”

  Wyatt’s smile vanished. Why in the hell did she think they weren’t right for each other? That bugged him. He wasn’t interested in a relationship with her, but she was attractive, and he liked to think he still had what it took to turn a woman’s head.

  He messaged back. “You’re a beautiful woman, and when you start getting some time off, you’ll meet more men, and you will be asked out. I guarantee it.”

  “Thank you for the compliment,” she said in reply. “Sleep well. Have sweet dreams.”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  Wyatt had just gotten his phone connected to the charger when the shadow of a passerby was cast against the front of his tent. His attention wouldn’t have been drawn to it except for the speed of movement, which was inexplicably slow. Whoever was out there crept forward and was hunched over at the waist as if trying to keep a low profile.

  Curiosity piqued, Wyatt pushed aside the door flap and leaned his head out the opening to see who it was. Vickie. Her tent was at the end of the row, so in order to reach the cookshack she had to walk by his. Only she wasn’t walking; she was skulking. And her behavior told him she was up to no good. The wronged woman. He didn’t quite understand her reasoning. According to Slade, she’d been the one to take another woman’s word over Slade’s. She’d been the one who ended their relationship. She’d been the one who’d married, had children, raised them to adulthood, and never once notified Slade of her whereabouts. Now she was back and as pissed off as if he’d screwed around on her only yesterday. How in the hell did that make sense?

  His skin pebbled with apprehension when she halted outside Slade’s tent, glanced back over her shoulder at the central fire, and then slipped inside the shelter. He almost groaned. Not another spider prank. Slade’s reaction had been one that Wyatt would never forget. It wasn’t often that he got to see a strong, normally fearless man get so frightened that he danced around in broad daylight half-naked. Wyatt had never witnessed anything like it, at any rate. But enough was enough. He could understand why Vickie might harbor some residual bitterness toward the boss, but after so many years, she shouldn’t be obsessed with getting back at him. Someone needed to make her memorize the old maxim Let bygones be bygones.

  He gave himself a stern mental lecture to keep his nose out of other people’s business. He believed in freedom of choice. That didn’t mean he always agreed with what people chose to do, but oh, well. They still had a God-given right to make their own choices. So if Vickie and Slade wanted to play games and end up killing each other, he guessed he should pretend he was both deaf and blind.

  * * *

  • • •

  Vickie knelt by Slade’s cot and reached inside her zipped-up vest to pull out the rubber snake she’d hidden under her clothes. Party time. Again. She drew back the top fold of his sleeping bag to reveal his pillow, encased in white, and the plaid flannel lining. She curled the snake into a coil as if it were about to strike. It was a gorgeous replica of a rattlesnake with some kind of bendable wire running the length of the body, which enabled her to position it realistically. It was getting late in the year for snakes to be out, but Vickie knew from experience that sunny days could bring them aboveground until hard freezes became the norm at night. It wasn�
��t beyond the realm of possibility that one might have wandered into camp. There weren’t many rattlers in this part of central Oregon, but Slade wouldn’t think of that. He’d just freak out when he started to get into bed.

  Hurry, hurry. She knew he might decide to hit the sack at any moment. He rarely stayed by the fire for more than one beer. She couldn’t fuss with this for long. She managed to position the snake low on the flannel, with its tail loosely coiled, its head elevated to strike. The replica had its mouth open and its fangs bared. It even spooked her, and she knew it was fake.

  When satisfied with how the serpent looked, she drew the top fold of the sleeping bag back up to hide it. Perfect. If she studied the top of the bedding, she could tell something was hidden under it. But Slade wouldn’t notice. He’d be tired when he came in. After tossing some wood into the stove to keep his small fire going for most of the night, he’d strip down to his boxers, lower the wick of his lantern, and start to climb in bed. In the dimming lamplight, the snake would look even more realistic. Easy-peasy.

  “For Brody,” she whispered as she pushed to her feet. “I won’t let you ignore the fact that you have a son any longer. Either we’ll come to a meeting of the minds on that or I’ll never let up on you for the rest of your life.”

  Vickie escaped from the tent and retraced her steps to the end of the row where her own shelter sat. She whistled softly, wanting to appear relaxed. Bad move. She couldn’t whistle a tune to save her soul. She sounded like a sick cat.

  When she was safely inside her quarters again, she curled up on her sleeping bag and drew her phone from her pocket to text Nancy. “I did it! There’s a rattlesnake in his bed. I’m so nervous I’m about to get the giggles. Talk to me! I can’t be laughing when he finds it.”

  Nancy was apparently carrying her phone around with her because she messaged back almost immediately. “You’ll be okay. You used to keep a totally blank look on your face when I lied to you, and then you lowered the boom.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Vickie typed. “I’ll be his number one suspect. I’m okay with that. I just don’t want him to know for sure that I did it.”

  “Sooner or later, he’ll be really, REALLY eager to discuss Brody with you. You’re not just sending him letters that he can ignore now. You’re right in his face.”

  Vickie grinned. “Yes, I am, and he’ll play hell trying to make me back off.” Her mirth waned. “How’s Brody tonight? Any better? I’m worried sick.”

  The previous afternoon, Brody had agreed to work with a crazy mare because he needed the money. The mare had started bucking the instant Brody got on her, and according to Nancy, Brody’s only comment on the matter was, “I didn’t last for eight seconds.” It was a rodeo term for outlasting the clock. If a rider stayed on a bronc for eight seconds, he’d gone the distance and could dismount.

  “He went to the ER today. Doc thinks he tore a muscle in his lower back. In a brace. Bed rest for seven days. Wait-and-see game.”

  Vickie groaned. “He can’t lie around for a week! He’ll get behind on the bills.”

  “He’s hurt, Mom. He’s got no choice.”

  “He’ll be back out there tomorrow on that damned horse!” Frustration welled within Vickie. She loved her son, but he was just as stubborn and bullheaded as his father was. “His back won’t heal if he doesn’t do as he’s told. He’s going to wind up a crippled old man without a dime to his name.”

  “Tell him that. He may go down, but he never stays down.”

  Vickie pushed at her hair. “I’ll update you when the snake show is over. I have to put on my pj’s. It’ll look funny if I go to see what all the commotion is about when I’m still fully dressed.”

  “Dead giveaway. Hurry. Text me when it’s over.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Slade took a page out of Wyatt’s book and bade everyone who stood by the fire a friendly good night. Pistol often chose to linger with the guys. They frequently had bedtime snacks and shared them with the dog. Pistol didn’t want to miss out on the goodies. Slade was fine with that. Pistol took his job as the camp watchdog seriously and guarded all the tents, not just Slade’s. As a result, he rarely slept inside Slade’s shelter, choosing instead to snooze wherever the mood took him. When Slade woke up of a morning, he sometimes found his dog curled up on the ground just outside his tent. Other times he wouldn’t see Pistol until everyone gathered at the cookshack for breakfast.

  He was tired, and all he wanted to do now was crawl into bed and listen to an audiobook on his phone until he fell asleep. His solar charger was a blessing up here in the back of beyond. Listening to a story drained his phone battery, but the solar device recharged it while he slept.

  He carried an armful of wood into the tent to stoke up his fire. Then he shed his Carhartt jacket and kicked off his boots. He got his phone hooked up to the charger before he stripped off his clothes, leaving on only his boxers. Life is good, he thought. He was enjoying the sci-fi novel he’d downloaded. Slade liked being transported into a fictional world where he could forget about this one. He didn’t feel lonely. He didn’t feel frustrated. His mind didn’t race in circles to keep him awake. And in that other world, Vickie didn’t exist, so his heart didn’t ache, either.

  Shivering in only his boxers, he started the play function on his phone, turned off the lantern, and then swung toward the cot to jerk back the top fold of his sleeping bag. The male narrator’s voice came over the speakers. Klieg, a male character in the story, hovered his finger over a button that would annihilate another planet. Slade was about to flop down on the bed, but in the fading glow of the lamplight, he saw a rattlesnake coiled to strike. Almost before he could register that, the lantern sputtered and everything went black.

  Snake. He jumped backward. Turned to run. But he couldn’t see. Just as Klieg blew the planet of his enemies to kingdom come, Slade plowed into the woodstove. The piping hot metal caught him across the shins. The next thing he knew, flames, burning wood, and embers spilled out onto the dirt floor, blocking his way to the door. Sweet Christ. Fire licked up the front wall of the tent, blocking Slade’s only path of escape.

  The flames at least gave him some light. He couldn’t see the snake, but he knew it had to be near him. A rattler. He was trapped in a tiny enclosure with one of his worst nightmares.

  “Snake!” he screamed. “Snake!”

  And then he faced the real danger. The flames had reached the ceiling. He had no way out. He grabbed his pants, the loops still threaded by his belt. He felt the leather scabbard, unsnapped the flap, and jerked out his hunting knife.

  “Fire!” he yelled. “Wake up! Fire!”

  Slade’s fear doubled. The tents weren’t that far apart. Unless they got this fire under control, most of the camp could go up in flames and possibly the forest along with it. He slashed at the canvas wall with the sharp blade. The blistering heat of the fire closed in on him. The instant Slade had created a path of escape, he plunged through the hole to get the hell out before the entire structure collapsed on top of him.

  * * *

  • • •

  Vickie giggled when she heard Slade scream, “Snake!” Then her heart tumbled when she heard him yell, “Fire!” In her stocking feet, she ran from her tent and cast a horrified gaze at the flames stretching toward the sky. Oh, dear God. She burst into a run, her brain barely able to assimilate what she was seeing. She’d done nothing to start a fire, but there was Slade’s tent ablaze. She didn’t hear him shouting now. Had he gotten out? Been hurt? What if he was still inside?

  Vaguely aware of the others who were racing in from the central fire and running in the same direction she was, Vickie sent up a mindless litany of prayer. Don’t let him be hurt. Please, God, don’t let him be hurt. By the time she reached the flaming tent, her lungs felt as if they might burst. “Slade!” she screamed.

  He was in there.
Oh, dear God. She had to help him. Had to. Not allowing herself to hesitate, Vickie hunched her shoulders, tightened all her muscles, and burst into a run. If she hit the flaming canvas going fast enough, maybe she could get through the fire so quickly it wouldn’t burn her. Slade would do it for her. She knew he would.

  “Whoa!”

  A hard arm came around Vickie’s waist, vising her belly so hard that it slammed some of the breath out of her. She managed to scream anyway. “Let me go! He’s in there. Let me go, damn you!”

  Using her fingernails and all her strength, she clawed at the arm that held her back. Slade might be overcome by the smoke. Possibly the heat. She could still save him. He wouldn’t be dead yet. Not yet. Please, God, not yet.

  “Vickie, stop it! It’s me. I’m here. I’m okay.”

  She went limp within the circle of his arm. “Slade?”

  When he loosened his hold on her, she whirled around and then bounced on her tiptoes to throw her arms around his neck. “Oh, God, thank you, God! I thought you were still in there!”

  His solid embrace closed around her, and for the first time in over forty-one years, she was pressed full-length against his body again. A feeling like she’d just rediscovered where she truly belonged swamped her. A sob tore up from her chest. He ran a big hand up and down her spine. She was so grateful that he was there, that he was okay, that he wasn’t in that tent.

  He set her away from him. “I’ve got to help. If this fire gets away from us, all the tents will go. It could also catch some of the trees.”