“Maybe some more coffee?” he asked.
Casey nodded. “I could use another cup, please.” Actually, she needed a stiff belt of whiskey. Inwardly, she was trembling. Just talking about it made her blood pressure rise and the adrenaline pour into her bloodstream once more.
“You got it,” Jody sang, turning away to retrieve the coffeepot.
Casey gave Matt a helpless look. “Will this conversation upset Megan? I’m worried.”
Matt shook his head. “Megan has an amazing ability to focus on what she’s doing and blot out the world around her.” He gave his daughter a warm look as she worked hard to keep the coloring inside the dark lines of the picture. “It’s okay.”
Jody poured fresh coffee into their cups and left.
Matt took a sip and watched Casey over the rim of his mug. She looked out of sorts, fingers trembling as she picked up the coffee. His heart turned in his chest. All he wanted to do was hold Casey. Hold her and protect her somehow from her dark past. But he couldn’t do that. Setting his cup down, he said, “I recognize PTSD when I see it. Have you been diagnosed?” He knew she must have been, but would she fess up and be honest with him?
Grimacing, Casey held on to her cup. “Yes. I guess it shows?”
“Only to me,” he soothed. “In the firefighting business everyone gets PTSD sooner or later. It’s something you live with. And it’s easy to spot it in another person.”
“Phew, I was worried. I try to hide my symptoms from everyone.”
“Well, you had me fooled, Casey, until just now.” He managed a crooked smile of understanding.
“Good, I’m glad,” she whispered, staring down at the cup. “I’m worried that if anyone where I work knows about this, it will hurt my career.”
“So you didn’t put any of that incident down on your résumé?”
“None of it.” Casey gave him a searching look. “I really needed to be a ranger. I need the forest. Mom was so right about me—nature is where I feel safe, where I recharge. I love being a wildlife biologist and I hope to use my skills for the U.S. Forest Service. If they knew about this…well…I just can’t risk it, Matt.”
“Not to worry. Your secret is safe with me.” God knew, he had his own secrets.
Touching her left temple, Casey said, “And isn’t it funny that nature is where I almost got killed? The very place I thought was safe really isn’t.”
Hearing the wryness in her voice, he said, “Well, I thought I was in a safe marriage. I never thought I’d lose Bev like that. I’m still reeling from it, if the truth be known.”
Realizing Matt was giving her very personal information, Casey gulped. “I’m so sorry that happened to you and Megan. I’ve tried to put myself in your shoes and ask what I would do? How would I feel about it? I tried to see it happening in my own family and it’s so devastating I can’t put words to it, Matt. I don’t know how you’re surviving as well as you are. I know I wouldn’t. I’d be so crippled by it I wouldn’t be able to function.”
Matt gave her a tender look. “In the past, shortly after it happened, I wasn’t too functional at times. It’s better than before, though. Everyone tells me it will take time, and it has. Most of my focus has been on Meggie, not myself.” Shrugging, Matt added, “My family and friends tell me I need to take care of myself, too, but I just can’t get there. At least…not yet.”
“Guilt?”
“Yeah, something like that.” Matt ran his fingers through his short hair.
“You look normal to an outsider,” Casey assured him.
“And so do you.” Matt laughed a little. “And here we are—both with major loss and trauma in our lives. We’re both crippled. It’s just to what extent, how we wrestle with it on a daily basis and how we try to get well even if we don’t feel like we’ll ever make it there.”
Casey agreed. “In my short life I’m aware that everyone gets wounded, Matt. It’s just a question of when and wounded by what. Tragedy is always lurking around. My family was shaken to its roots by what happened to me. The doctors were telling them I wouldn’t make it.”
Nodding, Matt said, “It’s a tough place to be if you’re a family member. I’m glad you decided to live, Casey. You’re a bright spot in our lives.”
His words touched her as nothing else ever had, and she gave him a warm look, then touched Megan’s hair and whispered, “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
Studying her in the silence, Matt began to realize just how sensitive Casey really was. Megan looked up and laughed as Casey grazed her hair. The smile she gave his daughter melted his heart. It was true, Casey was a highly emotional person. Matt was now privy to the real woman, not the one hiding with a painful secret from the past she carried around with her daily. And his daughter obviously loved Casey’s touch. Megan’s eyes sparkled. She impul sively dropped her crayons on the table and threw her arms around Casey’s waist.
Casey drew her near, held her gently and placed a kiss on her hair.
Matt wanted to cry in that moment, but he didn’t. Casey’s mothering instincts were right there in front of him. She had closed her eyes, pressed her cheek against Megan’s small head and gently rocked her in her arms. His daughter was like a small puppy simply absorbing all that love and maternal nurturing she was giving her. What would it be like to be in Casey’s loving arms?
The thought was like a thunderbolt out of the blue to Matt. He sat there stunned in the aftermath of the unexpected thought. Yet, as he allowed himself to think in those terms, red hot guilt ate at him. He’d loved Bev like no other woman he’d ever met. They’d been a couple since first grade. He and Bev were a team. They’d loved one another with a fierceness Matt rarely saw in marriages nowadays. Bev had been ripped from him. He’d not protected her. Or Megan. And those were the walls that surrounded Matt: his inability to protect those he loved. And they’d given their lives instead. He could never do that to another person.
Sitting there staring at Casey as she rocked Megan in her arms, a cold terror worked through Matt. It was a warning. It was impossible to love again. He’d end up putting Casey and his daughter in jeopardy again. There was a killer still on the loose and he swore never to put another loved one in the gun sights of his wife’s unknown killer until he was found. Not ever.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CASEY SLOGGED DOWN A TRAIL carrying a heavy pack. She gloried in the early-morning fog that lay across a meadow. In the center of it was a thick stand of willows. She was on Moose Trail, the Tetons still clothed in heavy snow above her. Breath white, because it was below freezing at this time of year, she slid her gloved hands along the straps of her pack. Finally! Her boss had released her from the deadly boring visitor’s center to go into the field.
Today she was to check out several trails used by the tourists who would be flocking to this area come early June. From then through the end of August, the Tetons would see over a million visitors who loved this rugged and beautiful landscape. In her pack was a map, a digital camera, pad and pen. Crews would be coming in to remove trees that had fallen beneath the heavy snows of the long winter. Sometimes rocks fell on the trail or melting snow would course across a flat trail and cut a groove into it. Her job was to note these conditions and, with her GPS, pinpoint where the crews should come in to repair the trails.
Breathing in the morning air, she watched the sun crest and shoot powerful rays across the valley. The Tetons were on the western side of the valley. In the middle of it was the mighty Snake River. As she tramped down the trail, Casey’s mind moved back to Matt Sinclaire. Had a month flown by since she’d met him? Every week now, she arrived at his home to work with Megan. The little girl was opening up like a proverbial flower. Matt took Megan to the rehab center to work with Hank twice a month. Birds had a magical effect upon her. She was doing better at school and even becoming more involved in class activities. She didn’t talk, but she was wanting to. It all looked so hopeful.
A large pine-tree trunk was across her path. Shedding
her pack, Casey pulled out her GPS, pad and pen. For the next five minutes she typed in the info that would go to her boss’s computer back at the visitor’s center. The actual USFS headquarters was across the street from the center. Charley would get the data and then figure up a route for his men and women who would be making the repairs. She idly wondered if Matt had had something to do with her being chosen for this unexpected assignment. Everyone wanted this plum assignment in the spring, and usually the most senior rangers got it. Not this time. Casey, who was the least senior ranger, had been chosen instead. She felt as if there was an invisible pipeline of communication that went through this town.
Turning off her GPS, Casey gazed around. Near the willows she saw a reddish grizzly bear, her nose up in the air testing the breeze. Taking her small camera out of her coat pocket, Casey took several photos. The bear wore a collar and that meant it was a denizen of the area. Right now, that grizzly was sniffing the air to catch the scent of elk. The elk were calving right now and their favorite place to birth was in stands of willow just like this one. Casey stood quietly, the grizzly no more than two hundred feet away from where she stood. Every ranger wore a quart-size can of “bear spray” on their belt. It was mainly red pepper, and if the grizzly decided to charge, it would be pulled out and used to stop the attack. This time of year, grizzlies were starving, having just coming out of hibernation.
For Casey, being this close to a female grizzly was a thrill. She wasn’t afraid of the huge, eight-hundred-pound animal. Respectful? Yes, always. Grizzlies roamed the Tetons and Yellowstone at the top of the food chain.
Suddenly, there was a roar of a rifle behind her. Jerking around, she saw the mud erupt two feet in front of her.
The grizzly woofed and stood up on her hind legs, staring angrily at Casey.
It was against the law to shoot within the boundaries of any national park. Heart pounding, Casey tried to see who was firing the rifle, but there were so many trees and bushes that she couldn’t see far. Frustrated, she heard movement to her right, and saw the grizzly running down the meadow just outside of the willows. Frightened by the shooter and his closeness to her, Casey moved back against a huge pine tree, her pack pressed up against it.
She fumbled for her radio in her belt, hands shaking, and finally got hold of it. Radioing in, she told the ranger at the other end what had just happened.
“You okay, Casey?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Breathing hard, she twisted and looked around the tree.
“Just one shot?”
“Yes. Two feet in front of where I was standing. What the hell is this?”
“Take it easy. I’m sending two rangers down to your area immediately. Just wait there.”
Fuming, Casey saw the cinnamon-colored grizzly hightailing it out of the meadow area. She turned and went west and disappeared into the thick, ten-foot-tall underbrush.
Who was firing a rifle? Anxious and angry, Casey had never entertained something like this. Oh, she’d heard from other rangers about out-of-season hunters. It was common knowledge that outside the park boundaries, many ranchers hunted elk year-round, whether it was legal or not. The people of this valley had been raised on wild meat; they ignored the laws many times. And Casey knew there just weren’t enough law-enforcement officers—or rangers—to stop the illegal hunting. And the ranchers knew that, too. Usually, they killed elk and deer on their own property and it was hard to prove.
Her breathing began to steady. Moose Trail was just off the main highway and about a mile down the muddy, rutted dirt road. She knew it wouldn’t take long. Briefly touching her own pistol in the holster on her left side, Casey knew she didn’t want to have to draw her weapon, because to draw it meant she was going to use it. This was the part of her job she hated.
She heard the crunching of gravel and narrowed her eyes as a mint-green pickup sped toward her. That was a USFS vehicle. Moving away from the tree, Casey wondered: was it a hunter shooting at the grizzly and missing? Who would kill such a beautiful animal? Frowning, she moved back onto the trail and tried to ferret out any movement from the direction of the shot. Nothing.
Within minutes, two male rangers were huffing down the trail, guns drawn. Casey met them on the trail. She recognized Charley and one of his subordinates.
Charley was looking fierce and angry, his sixty-year-old, heavily lined face puckered. Casey tried to smile.
“It’s okay,” she called to them. “No more shots.”
Breathing hard, Charley looked around. “You said the bullet hit two feet from where you stood on the trail?” He holstered his gun and continued to survey the area.
“Yes,” Casey said, “here.” She pointed down to the hole in the mud on the trail.
“Johnson, dig for it,” the supervisor told the younger ranger.
“Yes, sir,” he murmured and knelt down and began digging with his Buck knife into the soft mud.
Casey watched her wary supervisor take his binoculars and scan the area to the west of them. “Has this happened before?” she wondered.
Charley’s mouth moved into a tight line. He dropped his binoculars on the green parka he wore. Turning to Casey, he said, “Indoctrination alerted you to the fact there’s a couple of roving teenage gangs that come into the park. Did you forget that?”
Uncomfortable beneath her supervisor’s narrowed blue gaze, Casey said, “No, sir, I’ve not forgotten.” She lifted a hand. “I just thought it might be an out-of-season hunter was all.”
Snorting, Charley looked around some more. “That’s not it, Ranger Cantrell.” He watched the younger male ranger who had found the bullet and was pulling it out with his gloved fingers. “We’ve had an escalating problem here for the last year, Cantrell. We’ve got a bunch of Jackson Hole teens who think it’s ‘radical’ to come into the park and kill animals.” Frowning, he added, “They usually take a limb, a rock or some weapon like a baseball bat and chase down a rabbit, a raccoon or something like that.”
“But this was a rifle.”
“Yeah, I know.” Charley scratched his head.
“Here you go, sir,” the ranger said, handing the bullet to the supervisor.
Peering down at it, Charley grunted. Handing it back to the man, he said, “Take it to the Jackson Hole police. Have forensics run a test on it and compare it to the other one.”
“Other one?” Casey asked. “This has happened before?”
“Yes. Last year. I want to see if it’s from the same weapon. My gut tells me it is.”
“Last year?” she echoed, frowning. “Did another ranger get shot at?”
Nostrils flaring, Charley looked down at her. “Yes. We weren’t sure if it was aimed at the ranger or the elk herd he was counting.”
“Same area?” Casey demanded. Why hadn’t some one told her about this? She felt anger surge through her. They had sent her out without preparing her. Without knowledge. What else hadn’t her supervisor told her? Casey bit down on her lower lip to stop the words. Now was not the time to speak about it; she’d wait until things calmed down.
“Yes.” Scowling, Charley looked around. “There are two gangs of young men, ages twelve through seventeen, that the police say are doing these killings.”
“But do they have rifles, too?”
Shrugging, Charley muttered, “I hope not. We were worried about this—an escalation from beating animals to death to shooting them.”
“Why would anyone do this?” Casey demanded, opening her hands, frustration clearly in her tone.
“You’ve got a bunch of rich kids with a lot of time on their hands,” Charley said. He gestured for her to walk back with them. As Casey fell into step with her supervisor, he added, “Look, this is a recent problem. We’re doing all we can to catch these spoiled brats who are bored with life. They get a high from chasing down a wild animal, cornering it and then beating it to death. It’s like some kind of tribal initiation to those punks.”
“Have you caught any of them?” Casey felt
fear; she’d been attacked by a gang of young men. To realize these teens were roving around in a pack frightened her. Oh, she’d been told about it in her indoctrination lecture, but the speaker had made little of it—and so had she. Until now.
“Nope, we haven’t.”
“Then how do you know it’s them?”
“Word gets around, Cantrell. In case you didn’t know yet, there’s a really fine gossip pipeline in Jackson Hole, and if you want to know what’s really going on, you get hooked into it. Right now, we have an undercover ranger who looks like a male teenager trying to break into these rings. That’s secret and you talk to no one about it.”
“I won’t say a word,” she promised, choking. Alarm spread through Casey. Suddenly, she felt shaky. And her sense of safety here in the Tetons shattered. Two male gangs were roving with impunity through the beautiful Tetons intent upon killing. She wondered when they would stop looking at animals as their focus and choose a two-legged human being. Or would they? Was this only teen pranks? Or was it something more sinister and dangerous?
Back at the start of the trail, Casey climbed into the USFS pickup and drove back to headquarters. The supervisor drove into Jackson Hole with the bullet round. She couldn’t shake the terror that was now rising up within her. What would a band of irresponsible, savage teens who found it fun to beat and kill an animal to death do if they found a lone woman hiker somewhere out on one of those trails? There weren’t that many hikers on a given trail and noise was muted because of brush and thick stands of trees. How easy would it be for this neanderthal group of teens to decide to rape and then beat the woman hiker to death? All those possibilities ran through Casey’s mind as she put her coat and other gear into her locker at headquarters. Suddenly her dream of being a ranger shattered. No place was safe. No place…
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Clarissa Peyton scolded her sixteen-year-old son, Bradley.
The teen halted at the door of his mother’s sewing room. Hands in the pockets of his low-slung jeans, he said, “Just out hiking, Mom. Why?”
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