Mitchells rubbed at his jaw dubiously. “The obscene expense aside, finding one of those isn't exactly like looking for a spare shovel. You sure it's worth it, just to check what probably doesn't need checking? This area's far from any fallout zone, well away from where the prevailing winds would carry that junk. Also, the fallout would probably get dumped on the western edge of the mountains before it ever reached us here.”
It was hard not to get annoyed; did the man know where to find one or not? Tom took a calming breath, glancing over at where Kristy and Skyler were tending the animals. “Sheriff, I'm taking a woman and child up into those mountains, and another family along with us. Risks I'm willing to take myself suddenly don't seem so smart anymore.”
The older man's expression cleared. “You wouldn't be the first to go overboard looking out for his loved ones.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “I'll ask around, see what I can find. Maybe someone knows someone who knows someone, you know?”
“Thanks.”
Mitchells abruptly chuckled. “Although if Kristy really is with you then I have to say, I'm not sure which surprises me more . . . the fact that old Trapper's actually found himself a woman, or that you managed to land a looker like her.”
Tom felt his face flushing. “I'm not sure that's where things are headed.”
The sheriff gave him a look of pure disbelief. “She's following you up to whatever man cave you've got in the mountains with her son in tow. Even you can't have been away from civilization long enough to have trouble figuring out a hint like that.”
That was actually a fairly heartening thought. Although Tom's heart immediately sank again, as one particular part of what the man had said stood out from the rest: man cave.
Shoot, what was Kristy going to think of his winter lodge?
He couldn't believe it hadn't occurred to him up til now. Of course, the young woman hadn't confirmed she intended to keep on with him instead of staying in Emery until just a few hours ago. Still . . . what was she going to think?
He'd made the place comfortable enough for him, dry and snug and clean. But at the thought of bringing the flaxen-haired woman there, he now saw it in a new light: chilly walls poorly insulated by hanging furs and leather, most of which he'd taken down to sell in Newpost. A stone floor with fur rugs for the sleeping area, and for the cooking and dining area fresh grass he gathered and spread to make cleaning easier. Crude furniture carved the best he knew how, and same for plates and utensils. Battered old cookware he'd bartered for or scavenged, although not in a fallout zone of course.
And while he'd done his best to pick out a dry place, in rainy weather the lodge could get more than a little dank. And not the way people used to use the word before the Ultimatum. And in the winter, the small natural ventilation holes that let him have a fire inside without smothering himself could make the place more than a little drafty.
Mitchells was right, man cave was the term for the place.
While Tom was mulling that over, the sheriff clapped him on the shoulder again. “Well, time to introduce myself to everyone, then go talk to Brady and Neal and a few others. We can meet at his bar in an hour.”
“I can let Brady know,” Tom hurriedly said; looked like he was headed there anyway, since apparently, he had some shopping to do.
He made his way over to Kristy and Skyler, pausing for a moment to give the ten-year-old some pointers on removing the harness. The kid had gotten pretty good with Horse and Mary over the last couple weeks, and to be honest his main obstacle at the moment was his size trying to work with the large animals. Still, there was always more to learn.
“Might as well look for a buyer for the wagon and harnesses while we're in town,” Tom said idly as he inspected Mary's hooves.
Kristy gave him a surprised look. “Won't we need it to get our stuff up to the winter lodge?”
He smiled wryly. “Maybe, but whether we need it or not, with no roads or smooth, level surfaces there'd be no way to get it all the way up there. Probably not even halfway. We'll just have to make do with loading the animals down and carrying the rest on our backs.”
The flaxen-haired woman nodded thoughtfully; Tom had told her how out of the way it was up at his lodge, but maybe it was really dawning on her now. “I can go talk to Brady Everett about selling it while the rest of you set up camp,” he offered. “And pick up anything you need from the trading post while I'm at it.”
The other adults shared a look and the unspoken equivalent of a shrug. “We'll probably want to stop by in the morning before we head for the mountains,” Bob replied. “Nothing so urgent we need it tonight.” Kristy nodded her agreement.
Tom helped them finish up with the horses, then checked the belt pouch with all his earthly wealth, at least for the moment, to make sure it was all still there. With a few final words for some of the other convoy members and a slightly longer conversation with Brandon and Mitchells about the meeting, he headed into Emery along the smaller outer streets.
Before long they took him to where Highway 10 became Main Street as it passed through town, fronted by a line of modest businesses including the trading post, Neal's bar, a feed store and farrier, a couple of residences that also rented rooms to travelers, and a few other small shops run from the front rooms of houses.
Tom made his way to the trading post, past the hitching rail out front, which was unsurprisingly empty at this hour, and opened the old but well-maintained door, the familiar bell above it ringing to announce his arrival.
The front room was empty, also unsurprising at this hour, although he heard Brady's voice call, “Just a minute!” from the backroom. After a brief wait, the trader bustled out, making for his usual spot behind the counter.
“Tom Miller!” he greeted warmly; ever the businessman, he was one of the few people in Emery who used Tom's real name. “Back from Texas? Judging by your spiffy haircut and shave I'm guessing it was eventful. Although hopefully not too eventful.”
Tom smiled grimly. “More than any of us would've liked, I'm afraid . . . I'm back with a few dozen people from the convoy I left with.”
The man definitely paid attention to that, frowning. “Trouble?”
“For Emery? Possibly, although probably not anytime soon.” Tom scratched at his forehead beneath his hat. “But I was going to give Sheriff Mitchells and some of the other town notables a more thorough rundown of everything that happened at Neal's in an hour or so, since I've got folks from the convoy wanting to settle here instead of heading back up to Utah Valley.”
Brady's frown deepened. “How many? The land can only support so many, around here.”
Tom waved that away impatiently. “Like I said, I'd like to tell everyone at once. Until then, could I knock some business out of the way?”
The trader nodded and straightened, resuming his friendly, professional demeanor. “Of course. Your usual staples?”
“Actually, I picked up enough in Grand Junction to tide me over.” He smiled slightly. “At very reasonable prices, I might add.”
Brady shook his head wryly. “If that was a negotiating tactic, Grand Junction is Grand Junction, and here is here.”
“Fair enough. First thing's first, I'm looking to sell a wagon and harness. Good condition . . . got me here from Grand Junction with zero trouble. And others from the convoy might want to sell their own wagons and carts.”
“That a fact?” The trader rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Convoys have been drying up around here, with so many traders deciding to make for Newpost following the lure of better profits there. But I might be able to find buyers.”
“I'd appreciate if you'd try. And hold out for better prices, too.” Tom smiled again, more grimly. “Again, I'll tell it all at the meeting, but you might want to expect trade to start coming back through here sooner rather than later. And in a big way. Word's going to be getting out that Texas isn't the place to go.”
Brady's expression sharpened, obviously wanting to ask about that, but he let
it slide for the moment. “And your other business?”
Tom hesitated, suddenly feeling awkward. Even a bit sheepish. “What I need is more in the way of, ah, amenities.”
The trader blinked. “Amenities? You?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head beneath his hat. “Actually, I was kind of hoping you could help me figure out what to get.”
Brady looked unsure whether to be amused or befuddled. “You . . . don't know what amenities you need?”
“Not exactly.” He pulled his hat off, holding it at his side. “Supposing, hypothetically speaking, I were to invite a lady and her young son to stay at my winter lodge. What, uh, should I think about getting to make things more comfortable for them?”
The man stared at him in blank incredulity for a few seconds. “By 'invite' I trust you don't actually mean 'kidnap?'” he said slowly. Tom gave him a frosty glare, and he held up his hands defensively. Although he was holding back a smile. “Just asking! You're not exactly the hosting type. And, uh, no offense, but the ladies aren't exactly tripping over each other to throw themselves at you, shave and a haircut notwithstanding.”
Well, that certainly didn't do much for his ego. “Like I said, Simon's convoy ran into hard times. I invited Kristy Graham and her son Skyler to stay with me until their situation is settled.”
If the man had been incredulous before, now he was flat out disbelieving. “Hold on just a second. It's been a few months, and they were only around for a day or so, but Kristy Graham as in the drop dead gorgeous blond? The widowed mother who was traveling with the Hendrickson family?”
Tom wondered if he should take it as a compliment that the man didn't believe he could land her. Then again, he didn't believe it most of the time, either. “That's her.”
“Ah.” The trader scratched his jaw again. “Are you sure we're not talking about kidnapping, here?”
He bit back a sigh. “Pretty sure. Although as my winter lodge stands now, she might come running screaming back to Emery the moment she lays eyes on it.” He tapped the counter. “So . . . amenities?”
“Good enough to spruce up a mountain man's retreat? For her? Trapper, you don't need doilies and tea coasters, you need a blasted miracle.”
The man's businesslike veneer really had slipped if he was using Tom's nickname, even knowing he wasn't a huge fan of it. “Tell me about it. Don't suppose you stock any of those?”
Brady shook his head ruefully. “I suppose we should start out with dishware and cutlery? Probably want to move on to pots and pans next. And straw tick mattresses and pillowcases. And . . .” he trailed off into muttering under his breath, obviously trying to sort out the monumental task ahead.
Tom tapped the counter again to get his attention. “How about a wood-burning stove?”
That prompted a burst of laughter. “Sure, if you made a fortune over the last few months . . . you win big at the poker tables in Grand Junction?”
“I've got irons in the fire,” he said defensively. “Although I'd need to buy that later.”
The trader waved that off with a smirk. “Absolutely, add it to your wish list. I'm sure not extending that kind of credit.”
Disbelieving or not, Brady at least seemed satisfied Tom was serious about what he wanted, so he settled down to begin going through possible amenities that he had in stock or could get his hands on. Thirty minutes later, accepting that they wouldn't be able to iron out the details before the meeting, Brady agreed to get things together overnight and Tom could look it all over in the morning.
“We can haggle over prices then,” the trader said dryly. “I'm sure you'll have plenty more irrelevant and unfair references to the better deals you found in the utopia of Grand Junction to wallop me over the head with.”
Tom clapped the man on the shoulder as he came out from around the counter, accompanying him to the door. “How's the family?” he asked while he waited for the trader to lock up.
“Good. Betty's thinking we'll get a good harvest of hot peppers this year, and the kids are all growing like weeds. Brett had his birthday not too far back . . . he's seven this year, already acting like he's all grown up.”
“Tell me about it,” Tom said with a grin, thinking of Skyler. “Kristy's boy just turned ten and he's the same way.”
Mitchells and Neal the bartender were waiting outside the bar with a handful of Emery's most influential residents, along with Bob and Brandon. From the sounds of it as Tom and Brady arrived, the two had already spilled the beans about a lot of what had happened in Texas. Which was all right with him; he just hadn't wanted to have to tell the story over and over.
The sheriff immediately made his way over to them, trailed by the others. “Texas is a long way away, Trapper,” he said. “You think these bandits from south of the border pose a threat to us here?”
Tom shrugged. “Not so far with vehicles, especially if they've got the numbers to trample any resistance they meet along the way.”
“Wait wait, what?” Brady demanded. “Bandits with working vehicles that might be a threat here? What exactly happened in Texas?”
They quickly filled him in, after which the trader shook his head grimly. “If they've got vehicles and they're going to all this trouble, it's hard to believe they're simple bandits. This might be the start of a major invasion.”
Neal swore. “Just what we need, an enemy with trucks and big machine guns running around terrorizing us while we're still struggling just to stay alive day to day.”
Brady shook his head. “As someone who's spent years supplying traders, I can tell you the logistics of an invasion aren't as simple as just riding roughshod over scattered local populaces with vehicles and machine guns. Even if they do plan to try to take over what's left of the United States, they won't be expanding into Utah anytime soon. You've got experience with convoys, Trapper, you know what I'm talking about.”
Tom hesitated. “Not expanding, probably not. But they might raid up this way before long, unless places like Grand Junction stop them in their tracks and keep them away from us.”
Neal swore again. “This conversation is making my throat dry.” He started for his bar, waving over his shoulder. “Come on in . . . first round of drinks is on me while we talk this over.”
Chapter Two
Winter Lodge
Kristy was halfway through cooking breakfast with Vicky the next morning when her friend abruptly excused herself, rushing for the nearest source of privacy.
She watched her go, feeling conflicted as always every time the petite woman stumbled off to be alone. She couldn't blame Vicky for needing a few moments to herself to freak out after what she'd suffered in Newpost, and hoped it was doing her some good.
Still, there was always the urge to follow her and try to help; on the one hand, Vicky had told her repeatedly, and firmly, that she didn't want company. But on the other hand, Kristy just felt so helpless watching her friend suffer, unable to think of anything more she could do to comfort her.
A big reason for that was the guilt that continued to haunt her. Part of that guilt was purely irrational and usually easy enough to ignore, based on the fact that she'd managed to run and hide from the bandits while all the other women had been taken, so she'd been spared the weeks of hell they'd suffered in the occupied trading post.
But irrational or not, it didn't help her guilt that she felt even more relieved by her good fortune. And why wouldn't she be?
The bigger part of that guilt was that she hadn't tried harder to convince Bob, Vicky, and Lisa to heed Tom's warning and flee. If she'd just taken a few more seconds, argued a bit more persuasively, her friends wouldn't have suffered unspeakable horror.
She tried to tell herself that she'd barely made it to the gulch with just her and Skyler, and if she'd taken much longer trying to convince her friends she would've been caught. And that the Hendricksons had been adamant in their decision to circle the wagons with the rest of the convoy and try to fight, and they'd thought she w
as as crazy for running as she'd thought they were for staying.
That didn't change the fact that her friends were shells of their former selves now: Vicky shuffling around listlessly, aside from when she rushed away to freak out by herself. Bob filled with such obvious shame and self-loathing for his inability to protect his wife, for being forced to witness what they did to her while helpless to stop it, that Kristy sincerely feared he might try to harm himself. And Lisa . . . no child should have to witness such things.
Another aspect of the situation was that Tom, in his awkward way, was doing his best to be there for Bob, walking or working beside him in companionable silence and letting him know he wasn't alone as his world seemed to be crashing down around him. Always there ready to listen if the man ever did open up, although as far as Kristy knew he hadn't yet.
And Skyler was similarly there for his younger friend, letting Lisa cling to his side and, with equal awkwardness, providing her the support and comfort she needed for her trauma. At least as much as a ten-year-old could.
Which left Kristy, in spite of her efforts with Vicky, feeling like she was the only one failing.
She glanced over at Tom and Bob now, who'd roped the kids into working to unload the wagon and get everything packed up on their three animals, as well as loading up backpacks or rigging up some bundles with straps for those who didn't have them. At the sight of her son struggling to lift an overloaded pack, stoutly insisting it wasn't too heavy, she bit back a smile.
Skyler had always been helpful and independent, but ever since his birthday a while back he'd seemed to believe he was just a step away from adulthood and tried even harder to pitch in and show he could do his share of the work.
Or maybe it was killing a bandit outside Newpost, saving Kristy from rape and enslavement, that had matured her son so abruptly. She couldn't be prouder of him for the courage he'd shown, but it broke her heart to see the haunted look in his eyes. The way he woke in the night shouting for her in terror, desperate to know she was still there and safe.
Mountain Man (Book 2): Homecoming Page 3
