Big Horn Storm.

by Kim McMahill

  Niki had always cared for him and looked up to him. She was the small frail girl from the city and, even when they were young, he always seemed so strong and sure of himself. To her, he appeared to know everything about the mountains and ranching and she had admired, yet somewhat envied, the ease in which he lived in his environment. Though she had resided in various cities, none ever felt like home She loved the ranch, but no matter how much Bob praised everything she did from riding, to fishing, to shooting, she was always plagued with bouts of insecurity. The Blackburns treated her like family, but the only time she had ever felt as if she belonged was when she was alone with her grandfather at his sheep camp in these mountains.

  “Niki.”

  Her grandfather’s weak voice jolted her out of the past.

  “Yes, Papa, I’m here. How are you feeling?”

  “Thirsty and tired.”

  “Tired? How can you be tired? You’ve slept for nearly twenty-four hours,” she teased as she held a cup of water to his lips.

  As he drank, some of her fear slipped away. His skin was still too warm, but he spoke to her by name and seemed relatively alert.

  “Lacy, would you tell your mom that Papa is awake and see if she has anything we can feed him?”

  The young girl nodded and darted from the tent, pleased to yet again feel useful. Niki rung out the cloth in the bucket of cold water and placed it on her grandfather’s head. Sitting down next to him, she took his hand.

  “Those two sure are fine young girls.”

  “Yes they are. You wouldn’t have believed how well they did when we went to rescue them from the soldiers. They didn’t question anything I asked and held up better than most adults would have. If it wasn’t for April’s quick thinking and bravery Storm would have probably run all the way back to the Blackburn Ranch when the propane bottle exploded. I’m sure Sarah and Cal are so proud.”

  “And they’re pretty as pictures, just like your little girls will be. I just hope I live long enough to have great granddaughters. You already know everything I can teach you about sheep and fishing. I need some new students to spoil.”

  Before Niki could respond, Lacy raced back in with a plate of food. Niki took it from the girl’s small hands and began feeding her grandfather. For the first time since the accident she saw a glint in the old man’s eyes. She didn’t know why, but if his thoughts gave him life, she wouldn’t question it.

  Niki sat by Bernie’s side and told him stories about her friend Kate and a trip they had taken the previous year until he fell asleep again. When she finally emerged from the tent she found a quiet camp. The sky had continued to darken as a pending storm stalked them. She looked up and spotted Sarah and the girls back on the ridge, so she figured Joe must be resting and Frank would be checking on the sheep.

  Despite a nagging fear the bear might still be in the area, Niki toyed with the idea of going fishing. She imagined everyone would appreciate some fresh trout for dinner. She retrieved her tackle box and pole and sat down near the dead fire. She cut the hook off the line and tied a swivel to the end. She was out of grasshoppers and it was probably too cool at their new elevation to find more, so she would have to make due with some sort of lure. As she rummaged through her tackle box, she found the cough-drop tin of flies. Opening the lid, she stared at the delicate flies and smiled.

  “What do you have in that little box that can still make you smile with everything that’s going on around here?” Deuce sat down next to her.

  “Do you still fly fish?”

  “Now and then—it seems as if there’s never enough hours in the day to do some of the things I used to enjoy.”

  “Merry Christmas.” She handed him the tin.

  Deuce stared into the box. He didn’t know what to think and for a moment he couldn’t come up with a thing to say. The flies were perfect. He knew she had an affinity for anything artistic, but these were simply beautiful.

  “Little early for Christmas isn’t it?”

  “Actually it’s late. I made them for you last year, but couldn’t bring myself to stick them in the mail.”

  “Well, you should have. They’re your best work. Thank you.” His words barely elevated above a whisper.

  How he hated himself for putting so much distance between them that Niki had been unsure about such a simple and thoughtful gesture. He was touched she had tied the flies for him and even more pleased she apparently thought about him even when she was far away in Colorado.

  “That’s what I thought too. Now can I borrow one? I’m out of grasshoppers and those flies are probably the closest thing I have to something a trout might bite, even if I do have the wrong pole.”

  “Are you kidding? That would be sacrilegious to use these perfect specimens with anything but a proper fly rod. Put a hook back on your line, grab your grandfather’s pole for me and follow along.”

  Niki quickly clipped a small hook onto her swivel, clamped on a sinker, snatched her grandfather’s pole and followed Deuce. They left the shade of the trees hugging the camp and navigated their way toward the creek. He stopped by a wild rosehip bush and picked a handful of berries and skewered them on the hooks.

  “Don’t know if this will work since I’ve never tried it, but it’s better than possibly losing one of these custom-made flies,” he said as he tapped his front shirt pocket where he’d stowed the box.

  “Me, lose a fly? Never.”

  Deuce rolled his eyes. “Surely you haven’t forgotten how many of my flies disappeared into the willows south of the ranch while trying to teach you to cast? I had to tie flies for a week after each attempt to turn you into a fly-fisher.”

  Niki only giggled. They both new she was a lost cause when it came to a fly rod cast, but with a standard rod, she held her own.

  Deuce took a fishing pole from Niki’s hand and walked slowly upstream looking for the perfect hole. After a couple hundred yards, he stopped and Niki nearly collided with his back. She smiled shyly at him.

  “Might work better if we spread out,” he stated.

  “Probably, but if the bear’s still in the area I’d prefer to stay within shouting distance. We never used to worry about grizzlies, just black bears, and I really never thought about dying before. In the past week or so I’ve begun thinking about it a lot more and I must admit the idea of it sucks.”

  Deuce took her hand. They slowly made their way up the creek together. As he looked over at her, his mind flashed back fifteen years. He hadn’t been holding her hand then, but they had walked side-by-side along many creeks in the same companionable silence. He realized it had always been Niki and always would be. No other woman would do and if being with her scared him to death, he would just have to figure out some way to deal with it if they survived their current situation.

  “Here, sit on this rock where I can see you and I’ll try just a little ways further up stream. I won’t let a bear anywhere near you.”

  Obediently Niki sat on the rock and watched Deuce walk away. After several moments she flicked her line into the shallow water. Surprised the berries actually worked, before long they had a stringer full of small trout.

  Squatting down on her heels next to Deuce at the creek’s bank, she watched him clean the fish. She loved watching him work—everything he did was with such ease that it always made her feel safe and comfortable. Niki didn’t say anything, but the nearness took her back to the many times in her youth when she had sat in this exact same position, watching and learning, hoping for his approval.

  “I know you know how to clean fish.”

  Giving him her best smile, she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  “Won’t work on me.”

  “Never has, unfortunately, but thought I’d give it a try and see if you’ve softened up in your old age. It works on most men, you know.”

  “I’ll just bet it does,” he grumbled as he rose to his feet, seething at the image of Niki fluttering her lashes at any other man. But what could he expect? She was a be
autiful woman, so full of warmth and kindness that a man would have to be a fool to resist being taken in by her charm. Since he had done just that for so long, he could no longer deny his classification as the ranch idiot.

  Looking away from Deuce, she stifled a giggle. Niki was starting to enjoy ruffling his feathers. Clearly he was still trying to keep up the wall between them, but she could tell it was getting more and more difficult. They shared too much of a past for him to shut her out and she was now starting to believe it was just a matter of time before he completely let her into his heart and his life. Hopefully they lived long enough to find out if she was right.

  A tap on her shoulder from the tip of a wet fishing pole forced her to turn and face him. Accepting the pole Deuce held out, she watched as he knelt to retrieve the stringer of fish from the creek. Saying nothing, he strode back toward camp with Niki at his heels. She smiled and enjoyed the view, feeling smug in the belief that he was losing his ability to fight the inevitable.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  By the time they finished their fresh trout dinner and cleaned camp, clouds from the encroaching storm had moved in, blocking out the stars and moon. The wind picked up, whistling through the trees, swaying the tall pines, and forcing them to secure anything light enough to be carried away by the sporadic gusts. An occasional bolt of lightening illuminated the sky as thunder rumbled in the distance, announcing the imminent arrival of a storm. The scent of pending rain hung in the air and the heavy humidity made the night feel colder than its actual temperature.

  Niki hated thunderstorms and mountain storms were the worst. From the time she was very young the sounds of a storm always made her restless. The random blackened trees never let her forget that the high country was an area especially prone to lightening reaching its target. Here, everything was exposed and vulnerable, which is how storms had always made her feel. And this late in the year, rain would only make the night colder and more miserable and bring the snowline closer to their camp. Her reaction to the weather made her feel cowardly, but she’d been unable to rid her mind of her irrational fears of the past.

  “Come on girls, let’s get you tucked in before the rain gets here,” Sarah said as she led April and Lacy into the tent, interrupting Niki’s thoughts.

  “That’s probably a good idea. I’m anxious to see how rain-proof our shelters are.” Joe pushed his worn-out cowboy hat down further on his head to keep it from blowing away as he stood to leave.

  “Oh, ye of little faith,” Deuce replied as he doused the fire.

  They had cut open the extra-large trash bags Bernie used to keep things dry and put the plastic between the poles and the pine boughs used to thatch the roofs of the simple lean-tos. It was the best they could do with the materials they had and it had seemed adequate at the time, but the soundness of the roofs had yet to be tested in actual rain. Pine needles had likely pierced the plastic, but they hoped the holes would be small enough to minimize leaking—they would soon find out how much rain could penetrate the crude roofs.

  By the time the first drop fell everyone had taken shelter except Frank. He remained on watch duty on the ridge, despite doubts that any unwanted visitors would be out in the rain looking for them. They had convinced him to move down the slope and sit in a shallow hallow, so he wasn’t the tallest object on the ridge and a potential attractant for lightening. But he had refused to ditch his duty all together, so he sat huddled in his duster with his hat pulled low and a thermos of coffee within reach.

  Niki lay on the ground on a rough padding constructed of young pine boughs with her blanket pulled snugly under her chin. She listened to the wind rustling the trees, thunder, lightening and the rain falling in large heavy drops on the canvas. The sounds did nothing to encourage rest or calm her ragged nerves.

  Bernie’s cot sat next to Niki so she could be near him if he needed anything in the middle of the night. So far he hadn’t. She could tell by the sound of her grandfather’s ragged breathing that he was asleep and she was fairly certain Sarah and the girls had also been lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sound of the rain.

  How she wished the sounds of nature’s fury could be soothing for her as it was for many people, but to Niki a storm’s noise always brought nightmares. Often she found herself holding her breath, waiting for the yelling and cursing to begin. Fear for her mother’s safety bubbled to the surface, but then she remembered her mother was gone and could no longer be hurt.

  Continuing to stare at the ceiling of the tent, Niki watched the water pool, making the canvas sag. She clutched the edge of her blanket, fighting to keep her teeth from chattering and her pulse from racing, but no amount of willpower could ease her anxiety over the storm or warm her chilled body. As the cold penetrated her bones she really missed her down-filled sleeping bag, but there had been no question in her mind when she had given it to Lacy and April.

  Niki wasn’t sure if it was the cold, the rain, the need to go to the bathroom or her fear keeping her awake, but she couldn’t bear the immobility any longer. The sound of the drops had lightened somewhat, telling her it was now or never. Niki crawled out from under her meager blanket and slipped on the moccasins she used for mountain slippers, pulled on her rain jacket, positioned the headlamp on her forehead and left the security of the tent.

  After a quick trip to the bushes, she returned to the tent flap, but hesitated before going inside. She doubted sleep would come any easier, but she needed to get out of the rain before she was totally soaked.

  Everything was quiet and in order as she glanced around camp. The fire had gone cold. When it blazed and was surrounded by people she knew and loved the camp seemed like a safe haven from a bitter and dangerous world. Now, the camp looked abandoned and felt desolate and just as uninviting as the storm.

  Her gaze left the fire pit and landed on Deuce’s lean-to. She glanced over at the tent, but had no desire to return to the dark thoughts which had driven her out into the night. Without contemplating any further she jogged to the entrance of Deuce’s small shelter, flipped off her light and ducked inside.

  It was dark, but she knew he was awake and could feel his eyes on her. He lifted the edge of his blanket and waited silently. Removing her coat and kicking off her wet moccasins, she slid underneath the covers, lying on her side facing away from Deuce. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against his chest and she sighed as the heat immediately began seeping into her body.

  “Still don’t like thunder and lightening?”

  She snuggled closer, but didn’t answer.

  “Will you finally tell me why? Seeing your anxiety all these years has made me grow to dislike storms too and every time it rages outside I think of you, wherever you are, and wonder if you’re okay.”

  Deuce had asked about her fear of storms numerous times when they were young, but never pushed nor made fun of her. Niki had never talked to anyone about the terror which consumed her every time she saw lightening or heard thunder, not even her mother or grandfather, though she imagined they had guessed as to the source of her angst. It was irrational to withdraw from nature’s wrath after all these years—her father’s rage couldn’t touch them anymore—but the mere sound of a storm always made her pulse race and made her feel five again.

  “My father built roads in Dallas. His crew worked at night when traffic was light, unless it was too wet for the heavy equipment and then he would go drinking, which only made his foul disposition and violent temper worse. Mom would lock me in my room, trying to protect me, knowing I would come to her aid if I could when I heard her fear and pain. Every morning after a storm, with the exception of those nights he didn’t come home at all, the house would be trashed, Mom’s eyes would be blackened and swollen, and once he even broke her jaw, and those images are what I would, and sometimes still, see when I hear the first rumblings of a storm.”

  Wrapping his arms more tightly around her and placing a gentle kiss on her temple, he waited for her to continue. From things Ber
nie had said over the years he suspected the source of her fears, but hearing her talk about the trauma made him more determined than ever to protect her.

  Niki reveled in the feel of his stubble-covered cheek against hers and the heavy weight of his hands folded over her abdomen. Cocooned in his warm embrace, her body quit shivering and the solid mass of muscles wrapped firmly around her made her feel safe. She could no longer hear the thunder and lightening¾only the sound of his breathing and the steady beat of his heart, so she continued.

  “It’s the empty space between the bolts of lightening or claps of thunder that still haunt me the most. During the gaps all I could hear was him yelling and cursing, my mother crying and the sound of windows or dishes or whatever was close at hand being broken. One night, shortly after a storm blew in, I heard the screen door repeatedly, almost frantically, slamming shut. I burrowed down under the covers, fearing he had already come home. But after a while my mom came into my room and handed me a trash bag. She told me to quickly grab everything I loved. I didn’t question her. I just started shoving toys in the bag while she stuffed my clothes in another. For the first time in my young life, my mother didn’t seem afraid, she was determined. We drove through a downpour all night long. We didn’t speak, but I knew we were doing the right thing and I was certain I would never see my father again, and I felt no sadness.”

  Just telling her story out loud made the pain seem further in the past. Niki had kept the memories bottled for so long she had expected it to be more difficult to talk about. Somehow, telling Deuce seemed right and she felt as if an incredible weight had been lifted from her soul. Cradled in his arms, she felt safe from the storm, her past and from the soldiers stalking them.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear, fighting the urge to explore the softness of the woman nestled trustingly in his arms. “Maybe someday you can find something positive you can associate with storms to replace all the tragedy.”