Snaggle Tooth

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  But had she and Vangie jinxed the adoption by throwing this party? Never mind that they hadn’t called it a shower. A rose by any other name, right? She gave her head a tiny shake. Don’t be ridiculous. No. The party was a blessing and a gift to the Harcourts and Will. It was Susanne’s job—and Vangie’s—to keep the mood upbeat and optimistic. To give Ronnie the support she deserved, not just for her friendship, but in return for the support she willingly and selflessly gave to everyone in the community as a deputy and a darn good person. And to distract her from thinking about Barb Lamkin and whether her escape would be a monkey wrench in Will’s adoption.

  Susanne could do this. She would do this.

  Vangie had carried the ice into the kitchen, where she put it in a cooler Susanne had gotten out earlier. “This child is going to be the death of me.” She walked back toward Susanne.

  “Hand him over to me.” Susanne released Ferdinand and held out her arms. “Hank misses his Auntie Susanne.” Babies were the ultimate in good distractions. He was just what she needed.

  “Gladly.” Vangie transferred her son to Susanne. “This is going to take me a few trips.”

  Ferdinand followed the diaper.

  “Just set everything out on the deck. We’re having the party in natural light. Isn’t that right, Hank?” Susanne cooed.

  “Got it.” Vangie went out the front door and was back in a few moments, lugging a big pump thermos. “Coffee.”

  Susanne danced around the living room in the semi-dark, humming the tune to “Kiss An Angel Good Morning,” her current favorite song, and only tripping over Ferdinand once.

  “Ferdie likes to dance, too, Hank,” she crooned.

  Was there anything as wonderful as a warm baby? Hank was chewing on his fist and laughing, watching her with his mother’s intense brown eyes. Vangie had dressed him up for the shower in denim pants, a tiny t-shirt that read YEE HA, a red bandana around his neck, and miniature cowboy boots like the ones Susanne had attached to her gift. If she’d gotten her way, she and Patrick would have had at least two more babies. Now that her kids were in their challenging teenage years, she was beginning to see the wisdom of the decision to stop, but she missed this.

  She smiled at Hank. “You look so handsome, Hank. Are you going to be a big rodeo star someday?”

  Vangie traipsed back through the room, this time with a sloshing punch bowl covered in plastic wrap. That was all it took for Ferdinand to change allegiances. He trotted after her, sniffing the floor for spillage. “I was tempted to spike it, but we have too many ladies from church coming.”

  “I have a bottle of champagne if you change your mind.”

  “Let’s save it for the after party.”

  “Oh, goodie.” Hank cooed as Susanne rocked him on her hip. “Also, I bought paper plates and cups and plastic cutlery. We’re going upscale today.”

  Vangie was already back at the front door, where Ferdinand deserted her to return to his dancing partners. “I love it when we go classy. Last trip. What time will Ronnie be here with Will?”

  “Now. Or soon. But I don’t expect guests until 3:30.”

  “You’re dreaming. Our Sunday school class is always five minutes early.”

  Susanne laughed. The phone rang. She danced Hank and Ferdinand into the kitchen to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Uh, Mrs. Flint?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is George.”

  She let a long beat pass. She was very upset with George Nichols. “Hello, George.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make it this morning. I had something come up.” He paused.

  Susanne didn’t fill the silence. Hank babbled at her, but her mood had soured. She bounced him robotically, her earlier enthusiasm gone.

  “I won’t be able to come today after all. I’m very sorry, Mrs. Flint.”

  “I hope it’s something really important, since my party guests are very important to me.”

  His voice sounded strangely excited. “It is. I hate having to reschedule, but it really is. I’ve been hired to take some clients up into the wilderness. How about I come Monday?”

  If I don’t find someone else in the meantime. The lure of the darn wilderness. What was it with the men in Wyoming? “That will have to do. Thank goodness it’s summer and we don’t need to run the pumps for the boiler.”

  “Yes, ma’am. That is a lucky thing. Well, I have to go, but I’ll see you Monday.”

  “If you run into my family, I don’t recommend you tell Patrick you stood me up.” In over a million acres, there was almost no chance he’d run into them, but it made her feel a little better to say it.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry again.”

  Susanne hung up the phone. She had to shake this off for Ronnie’s sake. Ferdinand pawed at her foot. The dog was ever attuned to her moods, and she stroked his head. Then she gave little Hank a serious look. “It’s hard to find good help anymore, young man. But we’re not going to let that stop us from having fun, are we?” He chortled and punched a hand in the air. She nodded. “That’s what I thought. Now, let’s go help your mommy.”

  Chapter Eleven: Aid

  Highland Park, Cloud Peak Wilderness, Bighorn Mountains, Wyoming

  Friday, August 12, 1977, 2:00 p.m.

  Patrick

  Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up the black clouds re-gathering over Highland Park like a disco ball. Patrick caught sight of Black Tooth. He couldn’t help but marvel at the peak’s majestic outline, before it disappeared into the dark again. Thunder boomed as he caught the lingering scent of ozone. John screamed and Plug reared. Patrick had been worried the boy’s anxiety would impact the horse, and rightly so, it appeared.

  He was closer to the two than Henry, so he hurried over, grabbing Plug’s reins and urging Reno in close. Plug continued rearing. Each time was less high, but the antics were getting to Reno, who began tossing his head and snorting. Another bolt lit up the sky. Thunder shook the ground. The hail and rain restarted with a vengeance.

  As Plug rose up on his back legs again, Patrick leaned in and grabbed John around the waist. “Hold onto me.” He dragged one hundred and thirty pounds of frightened teenager off Plug.

  John clasped his hands around Patrick’s shoulder and neck like he was drowning. He scrabbled against Reno’s side, kicking and flailing, panting and close to hyperventilating. Reno whinnied and shuffled his feet. John’s hands were choking Patrick. He dropped Plug’s reins to pry the boy’s fingers off. Plug took quick advantage of his freedom, galloping away across gloomy Highland Park like the demons of hell were on his heels.

  “I’ll get him,” Henry yelled. “Yah.”

  Spot took off after the other horse, a blurry streak in the hail and rain. John continued struggling against Patrick.

  Patrick used his calmest voice, but it came out strangled from the grip John had on his throat. “You’re all right, son. I’m going to set you on the ground now. You’re choking me, and I need you to let go of me while I put you on your feet.”

  John didn’t release him. The hail sounded like a drum roll, the lightning like a cymbal crash.

  “I’ll help.” Perry dismounted from Duke and led his horse over to them.

  Patrick appreciated Perry’s help. It would make this go faster, so that he could turn his attention to getting them all under shelter. The hail wasn’t too big so far, but that didn’t mean there weren’t some monster ones up in the clouds waiting to smash a skull. He was far more concerned about a lightning strike than hail, though. Right now, he was the tallest thing around for hundreds of yards atop his draft cross horse.

  “Can you put an arm around his waist, Perry? I need to lower him to the ground.”

  “Sure, Dad. John, I’ve got you.” With Duke’s reins in one hand, Perry reached for his friend’s torso.

  When Perry touched him, John kicked out wildly.

  Perry shouted, “Ow,” and backed away, one hand over his mouth.

  “Are you ok
ay, son?” Patrick had finally managed to work his fingers under John’s. The boy was going to leave a wicked bruise on his neck, but at least Patrick could breathe more easily now. He looked over at his son. Blood was running from under Perry’s fingers. He hated not being able to get to him.

  Perry grimaced. “I think he knocked out my toot’.”

  Trish guided Goldie closer to her brother. She shouted to be heard over the storm. “Are you okay, shrimp?”

  Perry moaned. “Not really.” His Ls sounded more like Ws.

  Yep. A tooth out.

  Patrick said, “Take Duke, Trish, before we lose another horse.” Not that docile Duke was showing any signs of bolting, but stranger things had happened.

  She nodded and scooped up Duke’s reins, leading the horse a few feet away.

  Patrick felt his lips moving with no sound coming out as he plotted how to take care of everyone at once, and he didn’t even care. He had wanted to be gentle with John, but the kid was in shock, and he had to get him to snap out of it so he could help Perry and get the group into the trees.

  “John.” Patrick’s voice was loud, sharp, and jarring. “You’re fine. I’m putting you down, now. If you don’t help me, it’s going to be a rough landing.”

  John answered, but his voice was high-pitched and brittle. “Don’t! No!”

  “John,” Patrick said in his deepest dog training voice, “On the count of three, you’re letting go, and I’m setting you down. If you don’t let go, I’ll have to drop you. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “N-n-no, sir.”

  “Good. Here we go. One, two,” Patrick wrenched the boy’s fingers away from his neck and caught him by the wrist, “three.” When John didn’t release his shoulder, Patrick twisted and yanked the boy’s other arm away by its wrist, lowering him to the ground at the same time.

  John landed on his feet but then fell on his bottom and slid backwards. He caught himself on his elbows and didn’t get up. His bottom had dug a short trench through the sparse vegetation, mud, and small rocks. The landing had knocked the silence out of him, and now Patrick could hear the boy’s sobs.

  Patrick felt terrible for him, but John wasn’t injured, and Perry was. “Trish, can you help John, please?”

  “Yes, sir.” She dismounted and led the horses with her to John. One thing about his daughter, she might put on a sulky teenage girl act more often than he liked, but when the chips were down, she was someone he could count on. Steadfast. No nonsense, no arguments. Helpful. He was grateful for it right now, with everything breaking down.

  Patrick moved his horse beside Perry. Behind him, he could hear Trish talking softly to John, but not her words.

  He dug his field medical kit out of his saddle bag and pulled Reno’s reins through a belt loop on his jeans. Kneeling by Perry, he said, “Let me see.”

  Perry moved his bloody hand away from his mouth. One of his upper teeth was missing.

  Patrick nodded. “Ouch.”

  “Should I put it in my pocket?” Perry’s voice whistled through the new hole in the front of his mouth.

  “Might as well.” Patrick got out his flashlight and searched the undergrowth for the tooth. It was a futile exercise, and, after a few minutes, he gave up and turned his attention back to his son. “Now, say ‘ah’.”

  “Ahhhhhhh.”

  Patrick shined the light at and into his son’s mouth. It barely penetrated the darkness, and Patrick had the sensation that the sky—hail, dark, and all—was falling into the beam. But he could see Perry’s lip at the end of the tunnel of meager light. It was split, but not too badly. Gently, he lifted Perry’s upper lip.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry.” Patrick nodded. The tooth appeared to have come out cleanly, and Perry’s gum didn’t look like it needed stitches. There were butterfly bandages in the medical kit, but they wouldn’t stick inside Perry’s wet mouth. Nor would they do much better on his lips. Patrick pondered his options. The best course of action was just to stop the bleeding and give Perry something for the pain.

  He fished for Tylenol and handed two to Perry along with the canteen. “Take these.”

  Perry did, wincing when the canteen touched his lip.

  “Good.” Patrick smiled at him. “We’ll be calling you Snaggle Tooth from now on.”

  Perry moaned and shook his head.

  Patrick gave him a wad of gauze. “Does anything else hurt?”

  “No, suh.”

  “Okay, then. Apply as much pressure as you can with the gauze. It’s going to take a while to get it to stop bleeding.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  “You’ll have to do it even when we’re walking. We’re heading for those trees over there now.” Patrick pointed.

  “What trees?”

  “You’ll see them when the sky lights up. They’re there. I promise. But I have to check on John first.”

  Perry nodded and lowered his voice. “What’s wrong with him?” Wrong came out as “wong.”

  “He just panicked. We’ll help him to the trees and get him settled down and warmed up. He’ll be fine.” Patrick was being optimistic for Perry’s sake. He was already planning an emergency descent, leading Plug with John safely on the ground, hiking.

  But then he remembered what they’d seen just before the lightning storm. A crashing plane. Not something easy to forget, but given the circumstances, it wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. Son of a biscuit. They couldn’t go anywhere. That plane had gone down nearby, and there might be injured survivors. Time and weather weren’t on their side, if so.

  Patrick might be their only chance.

  Chapter Twelve: Excite

  Big Horn, Wyoming

  Friday, August 12, 1977, 2:00 p.m.

  George

  George Nichols shook off the last of his hangover as he saddled the third horse. Something smelled stale and funky, and, judging by the taste in his mouth, he was afraid it wasn’t the animals. He finger-combed his sideburns, then rubbed his eyes. He had to get himself together.

  He smacked the horse on the side to get it to release its breath. “Quit your puffing, you old nag.”

  The animal exhaled, and George pulled the cinch tighter.

  The day hadn’t started off well. He did feel terrible that he’d forgotten to set his alarm and stayed in bed with the pretty tourist he’d picked up the night before in The Mint Bar in Sheridan. He thought the world of the Flints, and he wanted to do a good job for them. Life had a way of ruining his best intentions sometimes. Women liked him, and he liked them, especially after a few shots of whiskey. He’d make up for it by doing a great job for Mrs. Flint on Monday. And he wouldn’t even charge a penny for it.

  But things were looking up. Orion Cardinale, a city slicker with a funny accent, had booked George for a cool job. Orion needed an ASAP guide, complete with riding and pack horses, to take him and two other men up onto Highland Park in Cloud Peak Wilderness. Orion, along with two buddies named Luke and Juice, would be looking for a friend who was overdue returning from camping with a girlfriend who wasn’t his—now very suspicious—wife. Orion figured his friend was just enjoying himself a little too much in the mountains, but said that if they didn’t find him, the wife would be sending someone else to do it. And if she discovered the girlfriend, it would be bad for everyone involved. George came highly recommended, according to Orion, and he’d offered to pay double George’s going rate. George didn’t even have a going rate, so he’d made up a number on the fly, then immediately wished he’d quoted it higher.

  The job would be an odd one, for sure. George had worked for an outfitter for a few seasons and still pitched in occasionally when they were shorthanded. He knew the mountains as well as anybody, he expected, so that part was straightforward. But Orion had said they needed someone who could keep his mouth shut, because of the girlfriend.

  George had assured him he was their guy.

  It had been a mad scramble to get ready. George had promised the manager fro
m the ranch he called home a big payday in exchange for letting him borrow a few of their horses. It was no sweat off the manager’s back. They didn’t need them that weekend anyway.

  So, now George was getting the four saddle and two pack horses ready.

  He brushed the glossy black coat of his own Shire draft before strapping the pack saddle to his back. “You think I’m crazy to take this job?”

  The horse snorted and seemed to nod.

  “Easy for you to say. You get all the grass you want to eat, free. Me, I’ve got bills to pay.” And more than a few overdue. This job would move his finances from red to black. Even without charging the Flints for his work at their house. He’d had no choice but to take this job and leave Mrs. Flint in the lurch, as bad as it made him feel.

  When George had the horses ready, he assembled enough gear to keep his clients warm, dry, and alive for a few days, and packed it into the back of the truck. Finally, he loaded the horses into the trailer and pointed the rig up Red Grade Road. Orion and his buddies were stopping for food and supplies on the way and meeting George at their rendezvous point: the snowmobile lots above Big Horn.

  It was only after he was driving, as his head cleared and he had time to think, that he wondered just who his clients were. They hadn’t sounded like they lived around the area, even though there were plenty of people from all over the world that gave the Bighorns a try. Most of them didn’t last the first winter, of course. George knew just about everybody there was to know in Sheridan, Johnson, and Big Horn counties, short timers or locals, and he’d never heard of Orion, Luke, or Juice.

  He guessed he’d find out more about them soon enough.

  Chapter Thirteen: Resolve

  Piney Bottoms Ranch, Story, Wyoming