Friday, August 12, 1977, 2:00 p.m.
Ben
Ben tossed the basketball against the side of the Piney Bottoms ranch house. The house bounced it back at him. He did it again. And again. And again. The pounding of the ball was helping him, somehow, but not enough to make everything better.
He was still upset about the night before. He’d messed up. When Trish had said she was going to graduate early to enroll in the University of Wyoming, it had scared him, and he hadn’t handled it well. She’d been really upset. He didn’t even blame her for making him walk home. Not much, anyway. He hadn’t explained himself well, or at all.
But he hadn’t known what to say.
He loved her. Had loved her from the first time he’d seen her at Buffalo High School. He’d loved her all through the horrible night when his father and Uncle Billy had forced him to help kidnap her in retaliation for the death of his grandmother. They’d blamed Trish’s dad for it. Ben hadn’t known what to think. He’d just known that if he didn’t help them, it would be even worse for her, and ultimately for him, too. It didn’t justify things, but it was the truth. Then and now, he just wanted to be a better person. One who would deserve an amazing girl like her.
He’d had all night and all day to think about what to say to her. He wrapped his arms around the ball and hugged it to his chest. He dropped his chin, the smell of rubber basketball clearing his head like it always had, since he’d first picked up a ball as a young kid. He’d been good from the start. And, until he’d moved to Buffalo, he’d been a star on his team back home, playing forward for his high school. That was part of the past though. In the present, he was just lucky to have a roof over his head and be dating the prettiest girl in town.
He was ready now. He knew what he needed to tell her. But Trish wouldn’t be back until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. It felt like an eternity to wait to make things right.
She’d been going up to Highland Park with her dad and Henry. And Ben knew a short cut up there, from Henry. Henry had been grumbling good naturedly about meeting the Flints at Park Reservoir that morning when Ben had gotten up to help load the horse in the trailer.
“It’s a shorter drive to Hazel Park off Little Goose Creek and a shorter ride to Highland Park from there as well,” he’d said. “Park Reservoir. I don’t get it.”
Henry and Vangie kept a beat-up truck with an old single horse trailer parked behind the barn for emergencies. The truck didn’t run all that great, but the keys were under the mat. And when Ben had moved in, they’d told him to pick a ranch horse and consider it his. He’d gotten to know Jackalope pretty good. Nobody would ever accuse him of being a rodeo cowboy, but he could stay on him well enough to ride up a trail. He could be ready to leave in two minutes, which would mean he’d be unloading Jackalope at Hazel Park in less than two hours. The horse was in tip top shape. If he rode hard, he could find their camp before dark.
There was only one problem. Trish didn’t want anyone to know about their relationship.
As if in agreement with Trish, a raindrop smacked him in the forehead. Bad idea, it seemed to say. Then two, three, ten, three dozen, all of them shouting at him. Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. He froze for a moment, fighting the doubts creeping into his mind. If Trish was going to graduate early to follow him to Laramie, her parents were going to find out about them anyway. She had set them on a course to make their relationship public. Rain or no rain, it didn’t matter. He had to find her and talk to her, and nothing would convince her how important she was to him better than a big gesture. Riding after her in a storm would do the trick.
He threw the ball into the grass and ran for the house.
Chapter Fourteen: Encounter
Highland Park, Cloud Peak Wilderness, Bighorn Mountains, Wyoming
Friday, August 12, 1977, 2:30 p.m.
Trish
Trish hunkered with Goldie and Duke on the south side of the stunted trees. Her dad had found the little stand of pines on the edge of Highland Park. It wasn’t much protection, but since the wind was blowing hard from the north and the hail and rain were falling in an almost horizontal line, it helped some.
She shielded her eyes with her slicker.
Beside her, John was shivering and talking to himself. “So cold. Just w-w-w-w-wanna go home. Not on my dumb horse.”
It was nonsense that didn’t require an answer. No one was going anywhere in hail and lightning. It was cold—she agreed with him about that—but not freezing. She kicked at the white stuff on the ground. It mushed under her boot. No ice anymore. The hail was melting. And at least John was calm, finally.
She patted Duke on the neck. The Flint horses had done really well, despite all the excitement. Plug hadn’t, but in her opinion that was more John’s fault than Plug’s. Horses were empathic. They soaked up and reflected whatever emotions were going on around them. It happened with her all the time. If she was in a bad mood, it made Goldie act nervous, like she was afraid Trish was going to take it out on her or something. If Trish was relaxed and happy, Goldie was almost playful, like she felt safe. Once, back when she’d been dating Brandon and they’d had a big fight, she had run down to see Goldie, thinking the horse would make her feel better. Goldie had run from Trish and wouldn’t come back to her even after Trish got a bucket of sweet feed for her.
John had been scared, so Plug had gotten scared. It was only natural for a horse.
She tried again to coax John into talking to her about something besides how miserable he was. “Hey, John, do you know what teachers you have for your classes this year, yet?”
“Never been so cold. Never. Never.”
Trish gave up. He’d totally lost it. Honestly, Perry was a lot worse off than John was. Her brother’s jacket was covered with his own blood. His face was pale, too, like he was really hurting. Poor kid. Not only was he a shrimp, but now he also looked like a toothless redneck. The thought made her smile. She couldn’t wait to tell him that, but he was on the other side of John and her dad, and the storm was too loud for him to hear her. Maybe she’d wait until he felt a little better anyway.
She peered out at the storm. The hail and rain fell in a sheet. Between the precipitation and the dark skies, it felt like the world had collapsed in around her. This ride had been even worse than she’d expected. She was tired. It had been six hours and ten miles since they’d left Park Reservoir. There was no sign of the weather letting up yet. Even when it did, her clothes and saddle wouldn’t dry for hours. And the smell. Ugh. She didn’t mind the smell of wet horses, but the nervous animals had decided they all needed to relieve themselves, right where they were standing. It wasn’t pleasant. She was wasting her time up here babysitting John and freezing to death when she could be working things out with Ben. She pictured his face, in a warm, dry place. They could have met up at the library. Or at the lake again.
But no—her dad had to drag them up onto Highland Park during a hailstorm. It was so like him.
Ben. She wondered what he was doing right now and whether he was mad at her for making him walk home. She would have been mad if the tables were turned. She sighed and wiped water from her face. It hadn’t been her best moment. Her emotions just got so big when it came to Ben. And the thought of being apart and him finding someone else had made her, well, crazy. That was no excuse, though. She knew better. Knew it firsthand, unfortunately, because last spring during a snowstorm, Brandon had left her to walk home alone on a deserted road outside of town. She’d been scared and angry, even after he’d come back to get her. And despite how that had made her feel, she’d gone and done the same thing to Ben. It made her stomach clench. She didn’t deserve Ben to forgive her, but she needed him to. He had to. She couldn’t lose him.
“Trish, a word, please.” Her dad shouted to be heard over the storm. He motioned her to move away from John.
She tugged on the lead ropes, and the horses resisted. Clearly, they were worried she’d lead them back out into the storm. They didn’t
want to give up their sheltered spot. She wasn’t going to make them, though, because she didn’t want to give up hers either. She pulled hard and steady until they relented. Still, their steps were slow motion. When she’d finally moved them about six feet, she squeezed behind Goldie and turned toward her dad, who had followed her. It was close quarters. “Yeah?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “You mean ‘yes, sir?’”
She swallowed back a smart reply. It would take energy she didn’t have to fight with him right now. All she wanted was off the mountain. “Yes, sir?”
“You heard that plane a little while ago?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.” She hadn’t thought about it at all since then, what with John going nuts and Plug running off and the storm and all. Crazy that it had slipped her mind. It had been right over their heads. “Do you think it crashed?”
“I do. There might be survivors with injuries. I have to go see.”
Her chest constricted. “And leave us here alone?”
“No, no, I wouldn’t do that. I won’t go anywhere until Henry gets back. I just wanted to tell you, because I’ll need to move out fast when he does.”
His answer still made Trish uneasy. Henry was great—better than her dad in some ways—but her dad was her dad. She didn’t like the thought of him being gone while she and Perry were up on a mountain in a storm with John acting all weird. But of course her dad would want to help the survivors. It was his job. More than that. It was who he was. But how could he do it all by himself? She wondered what people would look like after a plane crash. Smushy? Bloody? Gory? She shivered. She used to think that because she loved animals she wanted to be a veterinarian, but between dissecting a frog in biology class and her dad cutting open an antelope in front of her, she’d changed her mind. And people were way worse than animals. She was the wrong person for a crash scene, but it’s not like Henry could go. John and Perry were in bad shape. That left only her.
“Do you need me to come along and . . . help?” Please let him say no.
“Thank you, but no. I want you to keep an eye on John. I’m worried he’ll do something dumb that gets himself or somebody else hurt again. He’s calmer with you than the rest of us”
A little bit of the tension that had been building up in her released. “Okay. I will. And Perry, too.” A new sound caught her attention, different from the relentless hail and rain. Hoofbeats. “Henry,” she said. “He’s coming.”
Her dad nodded and put his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “Henry. We’re over here.”
Lightning flashed, revealing Henry, Spot, and Plug, plus a surprise. There was a man on Plug’s back. Trish gasped. Henry saw them and nodded. He reined Spot toward the trees, dragging Plug and his new rider behind him.
Henry vaulted off Spot before the animal came to a complete stop. He helped the other man down. The guy moved stiffly, like he was hurt or something. Together, they stumbled to the cover of the trees, with Henry pulling the horses behind him. Goldie chuffed and shifted her feet. Henry stopped beside Trish and her dad. Spot and Plug shoved their way in beside the other horses. Young Spot bumped into Goldie, and she showed him her teeth. Perry and John sidled between the trees and horses and joined the group.
“Be nice,” Trish warned her horse.
A long roll of thunder boomed. Spot moved out of Goldie’s range, and the mare relaxed. Plug seemed totally fine now, even though he’d just brought a stranger across the park in a storm. Trish wasn’t surprised. It was John, not Plug, that was Plug’s problem.
Henry shouted to be heard, motioning his thumb toward the man with him. “I found him out on the park. He’s from the crash.”
Between the darkness and the rain, Trish couldn’t see the newcomer’s face. He had long, dark hair, and he definitely wasn’t dressed for the weather. He had nothing on but a t-shirt and baggy jeans. She pressed a hand to her mouth. There was blood and other stuff on them that she didn’t want to think about, and he was standing funny, with one shoulder lower than the other. It was hard not to stare. Her dad saw stuff like this all the time, and he didn’t bat an eyelash. She didn’t know how he did it. She tore her eyes away and looked at Henry’s face instead. He was still talking, loudly.
“He said there are no other survivors, Patrick.” Trish felt a rush of relief, then guilt. No survivors meant her dad didn’t have to go to the crash site, but it also meant people had died, which was sad. “His name is—”
Her dad shook his head, cutting Henry off. “I know who he is. Eddie Blackhawk.”
The man nodded. “Dr. Flint.”
From the tightness around her dad’s mouth, Trish didn’t think he liked Eddie very much. “How do you know him, Dad?”
“He’s Constance Teton’s brother.”
“Constance? The woman we saw in Dubois?”
“Yes.”
Henry turned to the boys. “Your horse is all right, John.” Then his eyes widened. “What happened to you, Perry?”
Perry bared his teeth. “John kicked my tooth out.” Blood dripped down his chin, like he was a vampire taking a break from a feast.
“You need to press harder with that gauze.” Her dad’s eyes never seemed to leave Eddie’s face, though.
“Yes, sir.” Perry shoved the wad of bloody gauze back into his mouth.
Her dad moved close to Eddie. His voice was hard. “How many others were with you?”
Eddie stared back at her dad. Trish got a better look at his face. He was an Indian, and his eyes were black and hard. “The pilot and one other guy. They didn’t make it.”
“How do you know they were dead?”
“I’ve seen dead before. People, animals. I know what it looks like, man.”
“Did you check their pulses?”
Eddie’s voice sounded annoyed. Not scared or freaked out, like Trish would have been if people had just died before her eyes and left her alone in a crashed plane in the wilderness. “Yes. They were dead.”
Trish said, “So, you don’t need to go to the plane, Dad.”
Eddie shook his head. “Nothing there now.”
Her dad frowned. “You got pretty lucky then.”
“I guess. If you can call it that.”
“Where were you headed?”
“Buffalo. I hitched a ride to come visit some family.”
After a long silence, her dad pointed to the ground at the base of a pine. “Sit there, Eddie. I need to take a look at you.”
Eddie shook his head and stepped back, slipping in the mud and catching himself with one hand on Plug. “Nah, man, I’m fine. I just want to get out of here.”
“Does your head hurt?” Her dad closed the gap between himself and Eddie. He lifted the man’s chin.
Eddie ducked away. “What? No. I didn’t hit my head.”
“Your abdomen, neck, or back?”
“No. The only thing that hurts is my arm.” He tapped it with one hand. “I’ve been hurt worse falling off a horse.”
Her dad’s lips started moving. Talking to himself, Trish knew. He wouldn’t let someone walk away from a plane crash without a thorough examination. He was so into being a doctor that he sometimes went overboard.
Eddie put a hand over his heart. “I swear. All I want is a warm bed. Some painkillers would be nice, too, if you’ve got any.”
Trish could have been knocked over with a feather when her dad said, “Fine. Let’s get off this mountain.”
Chapter Fifteen: Seize
Hazel Park, Bighorn National Forest, Wyoming
Friday, August 12, 1977, 2:45 p.m.
George
Hail and wind pelted the trailer as George unloaded Yeti, the big, black and white Shire draft he’d bought from the last outfitter he’d worked for. The horse stuck out his nose and whinnied, calling for the other horses, who were already out. One of them answered. George knew the animals weren’t happy about the weather. He’d edged the truck as close as he could get to the tree line on the northeast side of Hazel Park
, hoping it would break the wind and wetness. It had worked, somewhat.
His new client Orion Cardinale and the man’s buddies, Luke and Juice, were standing under the trees out of the weather. George’s impression of the three men wasn’t favorable so far. They were dressed wrong, for starters. Orion—the shortest of the three but just as heavy as the others due to a belly that looked like a full-term pregnancy—was in zip up black leather boots. Water was beading off his black, wavy hair, which was slicked up and back with some kind of pomade. Luke and Juice both had smooth, bald heads and were obviously identical twin brothers. They at least had rubber soles on their boots, but the heels were flat, not like cowboy boots. George hoped none of them ended up sliding a foot through a stirrup and getting it stuck there. It was a good way to get dragged to death. Their pants weren’t made for the wilderness either. All three men were wearing slick leisure slacks and unlined leather jackets under the rain slickers George had brought for them. And he could smell them from twenty feet away. Give him a bar of soap any day, not the after shave or cologne or whatever these guys had doused themselves in. Perfume was for women, and even on them it had no place in the wilderness.
George eyed the men and guesstimated their sizes. The three of them all together had to weigh nearly seven hundred pounds. The horses had already endured a rough ride in the trailer since the turn-off from Red Grade Road and especially once they’d crossed over Little Goose Creek. Now they had to carry these behemoths up into the mountains. George would owe them a rest and extra rations when this was over.
George secured Yeti to the outside of the trailer with the other horses. Then he walked into the trees where the men were huddled together. He motioned for Orion to join him a few feet away from the others. Orion slipped and slid his way over the wet pine needles toward George, but Luke and Juice followed him. George frowned. He’d wanted a word with his client alone. It wasn’t worth making a big deal over, though.
Snaggle Tooth Page 8
