by Linda Howard
She tried to leave again, but Mitchell Davis asked a few more pointed questions as if he were trying to trip her up. Chad kept awkwardly trying to change the subject and eventually earned himself a cold, pointed stare from Davis, which was when he gave up and simply sat there in squirming misery, eating some but otherwise withdrawn. Through it all, Angie stood without fidgeting and answered Davis’s questions as if they were nothing out of the norm, keeping her expression bland, not letting him get to her.
She finally escaped to the kitchen, where she consoled herself with a big fat slice of chocolate cake, the first one cut. When it was time to serve the cake, she made sure Mitchell Davis’s slice was about two-thirds as thick as Chad’s, and served both of them with a smile before bugging out to the kitchen again. When they’d had time enough to finish, she stepped out and suggested everyone get a good night’s sleep, as they had to get an early start.
Chad immediately stood and began making a slightly incoherent good night, mixed with a thank you for the meal, but Davis interrupted with an abrupt, “I have some more work to do on the Internet before I turn in. You go on, Krugman.”
Chad immediately left, of course. Angie smiled at Davis. “It’ll take me about half an hour to clean up; I hope that’ll be long enough.” No way was she letting him stay in the house with her while she got ready for bed, and neither was she sitting up all hours with a long day—a long week—looming in front of her. Tonight would be the last good night’s sleep she’d get until she was back in her own bed. She didn’t think she had to worry about Davis being a repeat customer, so there was a limit to how much she’d tolerate from him.
He gave her one of his cold looks. “I need more time than that.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s all I can give you tonight. If you want to grab some time while I’m cooking breakfast in the morning, the door will be unlocked. I’ll be up at four in the morning.”
“This really is a second-class operation, isn’t it?” His lip curled in that faint sneer she’d seen on his face when he first looked around.
“I’m a hunting guide. This is my home, not a hotel. Some places, you wouldn’t have Internet available at all.” She gave him a sudden, concerned look. “You are an experienced hunter, aren’t you?” Her booking information indicated that he was, but after all the borderline-rude remarks he’d made, she couldn’t resist making her own little jab at him. She’d be as polite as possible, but what was possible was steadily shrinking. No matter what, she wouldn’t let him bully her.
“I’ve probably been on more hunts than you have,” he snapped. “Regardless of that fairy tale about helping your father since you were a child.”
“It wasn’t a fairy tale, Mr. Davis. I’m sorry you don’t believe me. If it’ll give you more confidence, I’ll be glad to phone someone in the area for you to talk to, to verify my credentials.” She waited a moment, then picked up the tureen, which was still half-full of stew. “No? In that case, I have things to do.”
She carried the tureen into the kitchen; when she came back to finish clearing the table, the dining room was empty. Swiftly she loaded the dirty dishes on the tray she’d left there earlier. She felt safer in the kitchen, where she could easily get to a bunch of big knives, if necessary. Okay, that was melodramatic. If she truly believed Davis might attack her, she wouldn’t have let him stay in the house to use the Internet, and she wouldn’t be going off on a hunt. He had a nasty personality, but she wasn’t picking up any physically dangerous vibes from him. Not by so much as a glance had he indicated that he viewed her in a predatory way.
Of course, if she’d been a great judge of men, her wedding fiasco would never have happened, would it?
She finished as fast as possible, then sat down to rest for a minute while she watched the clock, waiting for the half-hour she’d given him to be up. Right on the minute, she got up, locked the kitchen door, then went through to the den, where he was tapping away on his laptop. “Time for lights out,” she said, keeping her tone easy.
The glance he threw her was furious, but he shut down the laptop and shoved it back into its case. “Good night,” she said as he went out the front door.
He didn’t reply. Shrugging, she closed the door behind him and locked it. There were some outside lights she’d turned on to light their way to the guest cabins, and she’d leave those on all night in case something happened during the night. People did get sick, after all, or take a fall. She’d leave her bedroom door open, as usual, so she could hear if anyone knocked on the door during the night.
If anyone fell and broke a leg during the night, she hoped it was Mitchell Davis. No, scratch that. She hoped he went home at the end of the week safe and sound and happy, because he was undoubtedly the kind of bastard who would sue if he had an accident.
Yes, it was going to be a long, long week.
Chapter Seven
Angie hit the ground running the next morning. As soon as she stepped outside, she breathed a sigh of relief—the weather had turned milder during the night. The warm temperatures were coming in ahead of some rain, but it still felt good. According to the long-range forecast, no really cold weather or snow was forecast for the next ten days, which was great.
By five o’clock she’d fed and watered the horses, hooked the trailer to the truck, had all their supplies and the horses loaded. Davis hadn’t shown up to get in any of his oh-so-important Internet work, so she figured it hadn’t been that important and he’d just been making an ass of himself, which, considering how close his default starting point was to asshood, hadn’t been a difficult thing to do.
For breakfast she made a pan of biscuits, put steak slices in half of the biscuits and ham slices in the other half, wrapped them individually in foil, and filled several thermoses with coffee. Some packs of sugar, artificial sweetener, and powdered creamer completed her preparations. After making sure Chad and Davis were waiting at the truck, at five forty-five, she stepped out the front door and locked it.
As she approached the truck she saw that their duffel bags were on the ground; before she could ask about them, Davis unlocked their SUV and swung open the back hatch, and he and Chad loaded their duffels. “We, uh, we decided to follow you, then when the hunt is over we can leave straight for Butte,” Chad explained, his tone of voice sheepish.
“That’s logical,” Angie said easily. “But if it’s too late and you want to spend the night here before going home, you’re certainly welcome. It’s up to you.”
She took a wrapped biscuit and a thermos of coffee for herself, and handed the rest over to Chad. “Breakfast, gentlemen. Let’s get on the road.” They got in their SUV, with Davis driving again, and Angie climbed into the cab of her truck. She wasn’t unhappy with this change of plans. This gave her some peace and quiet, and space to think. She turned on the radio and punched the button for the CD player, and the soothing sound of her instrumental music filled the cab. Nice. This was much better than trying to make conversation. She poured herself some coffee and pulled out, accelerating smoothly so the horses wouldn’t be jerked around.
The sun wouldn’t rise for another hour and a half, so by the time it was daylight they’d be at their drive destination. They’d unload the horses, saddle up, and be on their way. She liked driving in the dark early hours, liked the sense of getting a jump on the day, and watching the darkness slowly fade away as more and more of the incredible landscape became visible. The music didn’t intrude, just laid another layer of beauty under the early morning. Very briefly she thought about Dare and his hardball real estate tactics, but she refused to let herself start stewing about it. This time belonged to her clients, and she refused to shortchange them by not paying full attention to what she was doing, even if it was nothing more exacting than driving.
Right on time, she pulled in to Ray Lattimore’s place; he didn’t have a big spread, but he took in a little extra money by providing parking space for guided parties and hikers. Angie gladly paid him. Even if he’d charged
twice what he did, it was worth it to not worry about her truck being broken into or her trailer stolen.
Ray came out to meet them, show her where to park. Davis and Chad stood to the side while Ray helped her unload the horses, which was nice of him because he certainly didn’t have to, but he gave her two clients a discerning look and without a word made himself useful.
The four horses nervously crab-hopped around, knowing that the end of the ride meant exercise. She was using the biggest one, a sure-footed dark bay named Samson, as a packhorse. If he’d been a suitable mount she’d have put Chad on him simply because he was so sure-footed, but Samson had more bad habits than the Rolling Stones—all of them. Put together. He hated being ridden, he bucked and crabbed and shied, he tried to bite, he blew his belly out when you tried to saddle him, he’d try to brush his rider off against a bush, a tree, a building, anything that was handy. But he was okay with carrying a load, and he was strong enough that he could carry more than the average horse.
She’d never admit it to anyone, but she was a bit fond of the cantankerous bastard. He was what he was, he knew what he’d do and wouldn’t do, and the two of them got along fine as long as neither she nor anyone else tried to ride him.
The other three horses, a light bay, a chestnut, and a roan, had their own foibles but at least they’d tolerate riders. The horse she’d chosen to ride, the roan, was more fractious than the other two, which was why she’d chosen him for herself. She’d had him the shortest length of time and hadn’t yet learned all his tricks, but if he decided to bite or buck, better it was with her than with a client. The chestnut was the most docile, so she put Chad on him. The light bay fell somewhere between the chestnut and the roan in temperament.
“Supposed to rain tonight, tomorrow,” Ray said to her as he closed the gate on the trailer and latched it. “Not good hunting weather.”
“I know.” The rain wasn’t good for people, that is; the animals hunted and fed regardless of whether or not it was raining. “We’ll get in some time today, though.”
“Good luck. Hope I see you back here tomorrow.”
She flashed him a smile. “That would be nice, but even if they get a bear today, I’d rather not ride back here in the rain.” The weather report she’d seen called for thunderstorms, which would be unusual for this time of year—unusual but not unheard of. One of the worst rainstorms she could remember had happened in November, when she was in grade school. Rain was almost always welcome, though, regardless of the time of year.
She began saddling the horses, and again Ray helped her, because Chad was watching them with a completely befuddled look on his face and Davis was scowling as he punched numbers on his cell phone, as if he could force it to have service out here if he just hit the magic combination of buttons.
“Can that guy ride?” Ray asked under his breath, nodding toward Chad.
“He can manage. I’m putting him on the chestnut.” She was in the process of saddling the chestnut as she spoke. She eyed Chad’s legs, made the stirrups just a little longer than if she’d been saddling a horse for herself.
“That’s rough country you’re heading into. Hope he can stay in the saddle. What about the other guy?”
“He said he’s experienced. I’m taking him at his word.” There was nothing else she could do. Make Davis demonstrate his riding ability, maybe? Sure. She could really see that happening.
Next Samson was loaded down with their supplies. The big boy blew out a breath and turned his head to nudge her rather gently, considering his size. She lightly slapped his neck. “Are you anxious to get on the trail?” she asked him, and he blew again as if he understood her.
While she was saddling Samson, Davis and Chad had finally begun doing something, taking their rifles from their cases, loading them, and sliding them into the scabbards on the right of the saddles. She had sighted her own rifle in the day before, and hoped they had done the same before shipping the weapons; they would do some shooting to re-sight, but with luck they’d need only a couple of shots. She hated to use more ammunition than necessary.
Finally, she handed out the canisters of bear spray, two each, and the holsters to carry them in. “Keep these within easy reach, not in a pocket or your saddle bag,” she said.
Chad looked at the canister. “Why bother with this when we have the rifles?”
Angie grinned. “Ever tried to take a leak while you’re holding a rifle? All that zipping and unzipping? You’d need three hands.”
He turned beet red. Davis actually laughed, the sound surprising her because she hadn’t expected any sign of humor from him, even at someone else’s expense. “If a bear got after you, you wouldn’t have to worry about unzipping,” he said to Chad.
“I don’t imagine any of us would,” Angie interjected. If the two men had been friends, the comment would have been funny, but it was obvious they weren’t friends at all. Even worse, Davis seemed to be downright hostile toward Chad, which made this outing not only strange, but downright uncomfortable.
“The difference between hunting bear and hunting elk is that the elk won’t try to drag you off and eat you,” she continued. “Have either of you ever used bear spray before?”
“Of course,” Davis said, sounding bored, but Chad turned the canister over in his hand and was reading the directions.
“I can’t show you when we get to the camp,” Angie said, “because the spray itself contains food scents that can lead a bear to you. Right here is as good a place as any.” She showed him how to aim it. “Spray a cloud between you and the bear, and don’t wait until it’s actually charging or it may be through the cloud and on you before the spray settles low enough. Never, never spray if the wind is blowing toward you, because then you’re blind and you still have a bear after you. And always have two cans on you, because one might not be enough.”
Chad gave her a disbelieving look. “I thought bear were shy, and ran away unless you just stumble onto one.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Ray said. “Bears are predators. Now, I wouldn’t want to startle a grizzly, especially a sow with a cub, but if you ever look back and see a black bear trailing you, you’d better pray you have a rifle and that you’re a good shot, because it’s coming after you and two things are certain: It can run faster, and climb better, than you can. If you don’t get it, it’s going to get you.”
That was pretty much bears in a nutshell, so Angie didn’t add to it right then. When they reached the camp she’d institute the camp safety rules, but all of that was better done when they could see the actual layout of the camp.
They were wasting daylight, time in which they might actually do some hunting and, please God, bag a bear right away, so she said, “Let’s ride.”
Chapter Eight
Mitchell Davis dismounted, looked around the camp she’d leased, and surveyed the portable toilet set off to the side. He turned and looked at her, an incredulous expression in his cold eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said in a tone so sarcastic that Chad flinched and turned red yet again; on the ride up, he’d been the target over and over again of Davis’s serrated tongue, which chewed up and shredded rather than destroyed with a fast, clean slice. Davis had something to say, none of it good, about how Chad rode, the brand of rifle he owned, the cheapness of his scope, even the newness of his boots.
During the ride Angie had thought several times that if she’d been Chad, she’d have dug in her heels, told Davis to kiss her ass, and gone back to the truck. Now, with that hostility turned on her, she bit her tongue and silently apologized to Chad, because he’d no doubt kept his silence for the same reason she was keeping hers: She needed the money. This was her payback for feeling superior, when she wasn’t at all; she was in the same boat Chad was in, paddling for all she was worth.
“Maybe I’ll take up meditation,” she mused aloud, earning a covert chuckle from Chad that he quickly turned into a cough.
She didn’t know what the big deal was about the ca
mp. Exactly what had Davis been expecting? A lodge, maybe? She had no idea what Chad had told him, how he’d described the accommodations to Davis, but she’d been completely honest with Chad about the camp when she had leased it. It wasn’t the best she’d ever been at, but neither was it the worst. At least they weren’t sleeping on the ground, and she’d done that more times than she cared to remember.
The campsite was in a picturesque spot, on a fairly level section of the mountainside, surrounded by lodgepole pine and tamarack. Below, a crystal clear creek wound its way along the valley floor, bracketed by stands of spruce and black cottonwood. Taller peaks, white-capped with snow, loomed over and around them. Huge boulders and thick tangles of chokeberry bushes dotted the landscape. The presence of the creek and the chokeberry bushes upped their chances of finding bear, which was the reason for being here in the first place. She could have taken them to a place with more luxurious accommodations, but the odds of Davis shooting a bear went down.
There were six wooden platforms, but only three of them were set up with tents. Angie deeply appreciated the platforms; when the rain began, that meant water wouldn’t be running through their tents. The tents were heavy-duty canvas, each with a sort of offset wing in front of the entrance, for extra privacy. She knew for a fact that silhouettes couldn’t be seen through the canvas, which was a big plus for her. The tents weren’t huge, about seven and a half feet by five feet, but that was plenty big enough for a cot and their belongings. They each had an inflatable mattress to go on the cot, and a sleeping bag. The portable toilet took care of calls of nature, and she’d brought enough wet wipes for them to stay reasonably clean and unstinky for a week—longer than that, if need be.
A lot of their food was prepackaged, but a food-prep area had been set up a couple of hundred yards away. There was a camp stove for making coffee, which was as much of a necessity as clothing, in her opinion. There were battery-operated LED lamps in the tents, flashlights, extra batteries. She had Swedish steel for making fires, and if by chance the weather turned bitterly cold, which it wasn’t supposed to do, each tent was stocked with a small oil heater.