by Wendy Rosnau
“Where is my luggage?”
“Did you have luggage?”
“Ah…I must have.”
“The airplane still burns. If you brought bags with you, they are not here. You were lucky. You were thrown out of the plane.”
“I hurt all over.”
“I have brought something with me to ease the pain.” The old woman brought Pris a brown bottle. “Drink. Two swallows.”
Pris tipped back the bottle and drank the bitter liquid, and within ten minutes she started to see double. The woman had drugged her, she realized, as she slipped into a heavy sleep.
The next time Pris opened her eyes she didn’t know where she was until she saw the old woman seated beside her. It was daylight and she stared at the surrounding wilderness with both awe and fear. There was no way that they would be rescued, she thought. No one would ever find them. Maybe no one even knew they were there.
She tried to move, and moaned with the effort.
“Be still, sisttsi nan.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means pretty bird.”
“And what language is it.”
“My language. I am a Blackfeet Indian.”
“Blackfoot?”
“No, Blackfeet. I have two.” The old woman smiled, then stood. “I can see much pain in your eyes. I will bring you medicine.”
“No. I want to stay awake.”
“There will be time for that later.” She produced the brown bottle again. “Here. Another day of sleep will prepare you for the journey. Drink.”
“No, I don’t want to pass out again.”
“It is good to sleep. Our journey down the mountain will be long.”
Pris accepted the bottle and drank. “What is this stuff anyway?”
“A special tonic.”
“How will we get down the mountain without help?”
“Help is coming. Moon will be here soon.”
“Moon?”
“My grandson.”
“But how does he know where to look?”
“He is very smart. Like me, he also has a gift.”
“He has visions, too?”
“No. He is smart and an expert tracker, and I have left a trail for him to follow.”
“I don’t think I can walk.”
“You will ride.” The old woman pointed to a pair of sticks with a blanket tied between them.
Pris handed the bottle of tonic back to Koko. “You’re going to drag me?”
“Don’t worry, sisttsi nan. I am old, but I am strong. I climbed the mountain for you, remember?”
“Yes, you came for me.”
Prisca’s eyes grew heavy again. She drifted off to sleep to the sound of the old woman making more strange sounds as she tended the fire.
When she woke next Pris found Koko talking to herself. The traveling bed had been moved closer.
The old woman must have eyes in the back of her head, Pris thought, because she turned around very suddenly.
“You’re awake. Good. We must go, sisttsi nan. I wanted to wait here for my grandson, but a storm is coming and we need to leave. I was about to wake you. We need to get off the mountain before the snow comes.”
“I need clothes.”
“The blankets will be enough. Better for wounds, not to move too much.” Koko picked up a second blanket and brought it to Prisca. “Keeping you warm is most important.”
She spread one blanket on the travois, and then slowly helped Pris slide her body over and onto the portable bed. Once she was settled, Koko covered her with another blanket and tucked it around her, then tied a rope harness around her waist and hooked the long wooden sticks into two loops.
Then they were moving away from the crash site as gray clouds swelled overhead and the wind began to blow.
The horse’s name was Pete, a black gelding who was used to shifting rocks and narrow trails. Jacy gave Pete his head, and let the long-legged animal negotiate the path at his own pace.
He’d wasted two days searching Rising Wolf Mountain for the downed plane with no luck, and his mood was about as sour as the weather. Clouds were moving into the area, and Sinopah Mountain was a dangerous place to be in a snowstorm.
The threatening weather turned his thoughts to his grandmother. He’d kept in contact with Tate, and Koko hadn’t come home yet. Jacy was worried, but not angry with her. Koko’s visions were real. They didn’t always come at the most opportune time, but that wasn’t something she could control.
He couldn’t ignore the parallel between the crash and Koko’s sudden late-night vision.
Billy had been convinced that the plane had tracked northeast, but after searching Rising Wolf, Jacy knew he should have followed his gut and headed straight to Sinopah. From the moment he’d arrived at the base of the mountain his gut had been churning—his seventy-six-year-old grandmother was here, and so was Marty and his airplane.
Billy was still waiting to hear from him, hoping it would be soon. The Bureau of Land Management dealt in facts, and so he hadn’t mentioned Koko and her vision. The BLM was a lot like Merrick and the Onyxx Agency in that respect.
But he didn’t need to worry about Merrick and the agency. He had retired, and they didn’t own him any longer. And his association with the BLM was strictly on a volunteer basis, so he could do things any damn way he pleased.
Jacy shifted in the saddle and leaned into the mountain as Pete, as sure-footed as a goat, maneuvered the rocky trail.
The temperature was twenty degrees, with a three-inch base of snow on the ground. He pulled the collar up on his sheepskin jacket and tugged his brown Stetson lower. Another hour passed, then another.
It was late afternoon when he spied the familiar pink scarf—a dot of color against the mountain. The sight made him smile in relief, and he reined Pete to a stop.
Koko was moving slowly along the trail, negotiating the rugged terrain and a travois she was pulling behind her.
He had stopped questioning Koko’s visions a long time ago. He’d learned about them one night seated around a campfire on the rez as his uncle had relayed to him the story of his birth: His mother Nola had been trying to get down the mountain. She was eight months pregnant and in labor.
Once again Koko was in her rocker when a vision came to her and she realized her daughter was in trouble. All of her visions came to her in the rocker. Tate had aptly named the rocker the “happening place,” and it was true, it was the place where his grandmother’s visions revealed themselves.
That stormy night she had seen Nola in labor. And, on a desolate trail bathed in moonlight, she had arrived in time to deliver Jacy into the world, then transport Nola and her child, via travois, to a road where she had flagged down a car for help.
Jacy dismounted Pete, and when he dropped onto the ground, his bad leg buckled. He swore, held on to the saddle horn, and rescued his pride and his balance before he dropped to his knees.
“Hello up there,” he called out. “Koko, it’s me.”
She stopped and searched the rocks below. He waited until her eyes locked on him two hundred feet below her. When she saw him, she gave a hearty wave, and he knew behind the wave she was smiling.
He watched as she unhooked the wooden poles from a harness she had tied around her waist. Free of her burden, she called out to him.
“You’re two days late, but I am happy to see you, my issohko.”
“I’m happy to see you, too, Grandmother. What have you found?”
“A bird fell from the sky. A matsowa’p bird, and she is hurt.”
A beautiful bird. A woman, not Marty.
Jacy wondered about that. Had Marty been transporting a passenger? It was true he flew hunters up into the mountains.
He searched the trail behind Koko, but saw no one else. “Was it Marty’s plane in your vision?”
“Yes. But he has joined his father and mother.”
Marty’s parents were both dead. Jacy understood what Koko was saying. He tied Pete
to a dogwood shrub and began to negotiate the rocky trail.
Pris strained her neck to see who owned the deep voice that had boomed up the mountain minutes ago, but in her prone position she saw only treetops and more mountains.
“Is it your grandson?” she asked.
“It is him, sisttsi nan. He has come as I said he would.”
Pris didn’t really care who it was, only that someone had found them. The old woman had been walking for hours without complaint, dragging her behind. The trail was rough and Koko had to be exhausted.
She asked, “Now what?”
“Now Moon will take you the rest of the way.” Koko looked over her shoulder to where Prisca lay wrapped in the blankets. “Did I tell you that my grandson almost died last year? He should have, but his spirit would not allow it. It wasn’t his time, just like it wasn’t your time. I believe he is on a quest, like you.”
Listening to Koko and the way she talked, Prisca felt as if she’d been transported back in time. Still, it didn’t matter who or what this woman was, or what sort of a quest her grandson was on. What mattered was that she had been rescued from certain death.
She smiled back at Koko, relief in her own eyes. She would believe Koko and what she had said. It wasn’t her time to die, and it was true. She had unfinished business to take care of. Yes, a quest for justice, and God wouldn’t cheat her out of her revenge. Not when he knew how important it was to her.
She heard the shifting of rocks, and she looked past Koko again. This time she was rewarded by the sight of a man coming slowly up the trail.
He wore a heavy tan coat and jeans covering long athletic legs. His hair was visible around his collar, black and straight. She couldn’t see his face. It was hidden in the shadow of a hat.
He was limping, and for a moment she questioned just how much help he would be. Then he stopped and tipped the brim of his hat back and what she saw set her heart pounding. Koko’s grandson had the face of experience, with eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. A man who had seen too much, been to hell and returned. She remembered the words from a poem she’d once read.
Prisca watched Koko hug her grandson. When he hugged her back, then kissed her forehead, her heart constricted. Her mother had always kissed her cheek. She touched her face, remembering. But there would be no more kisses. No more hugs.
The reminder brought her back to the reason she had climbed into that small airplane in Missoula. She collected her raw emotions, stuffed them away, then focused on what had brought her across the ocean. Bjorn Odell and Jacy Madox were the ones responsible for her lonely existence. But thanks to Koko and to her grandson, she would soon be back on her feet, able to resume the hunt.
When Koko stepped back to let her grandson kneel down beside her, Prisca said, “I owe my life to your grandmother. She is my miracle.”
“And mine,” he said. “How badly is she hurt, Koko?”
“The leg wound is deep. A few cuts and bruises. Maybe a sprained ankle.”
Prisca again got caught up in his voice—so very low, but far more educated than he looked. It’s what distracted her and cost her not only her pride, but her dignity when he reached out and stripped the double layer of blankets from her body.
Jacy’s first thought was, where the hell are her clothes? His second thought was he hadn’t seen anything this beautiful in a very long time. If ever.
He tried to keep his eyes off her breasts, but the air was cold and the two porcelain-perfect mounds were dressed with rosy nipples and he lost focus for a moment, then he went in search of her injuries. He mentally tallied up the damage, and at the same time couldn’t ignore her narrow waist and shapely curves.
She had a superficial laceration on her thigh. He carefully removed the cloth bandage Koko had wrapped around the leg. The woman’s most serious injuries—unless she had internal trauma—were a four-inch jagged cut below her left knee, and a badly swollen left ankle.
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked at her. “You don’t know?”
“She can’t remember, Moon. But I told her not to worry. It’s probably temporary.”
He rewrapped the leg, then examined the ankle.
“It doesn’t appear to be broken.”
Koko’s words reminded Jacy that his grandmother was still standing close behind him. He tossed the blanket back over the young woman. “I don’t like the look of that muscle tear on the front of her leg. She needs sutures.”
“I could have done it,” Koko said, “but I was afraid I would leave her scarred. My hands aren’t as steady as they used to be.”
It was true. Without proper medical equipment and sanitation they could make things worse.
“Vic can do it. We’ll get her back to the cabin,” Jacy said.
“That’s where I was headed.”
Jacy looked at the sky. “There’s only an hour of daylight left.”
“I don’t think she should be out here another night, Moon. Take her and ride for the cabin as fast as you can.”
The thought of leaving Koko behind brought Jacy to his feet. “There’s no way I’m going to leave you out here with a storm moving in.”
“The wind has shifted. The storm will go north. I’ll be fine.” She laid her hand on Jacy’s arm and pulled him a short distance away from the young woman. “I have seen more than the little bird falling from the sky. My vision’s telling me there is danger close by. It’s not clear what kind of danger, but I trust the feelings. You must take her quickly away from here.”
Jacy noticed his grandmother’s tired eyes. “You’re exhausted. These visions are too hard on you.”
“My vision saved her life for a reason. We cannot question why. Go now.”
“Two days ago I gave Tate hell for letting you take off alone. Now you want me to walk away after I’ve found you?”
“Yes, I do. The airplane is on the west slope. Tell Billy it is above Bottom Out Creek. I will be there waiting, issohko.”
Jacy nodded. “I’ll take her to the cabin and then come back up with Billy. Vic was getting ready to leave and head back to Washington, but I’ll tell him he’s going to have to delay that for a few days. He can take care of her until we get back.”
Koko walked back to the young woman and knelt beside her. Tucking the blankets back around her, she said, “It is important that you get your leg tended to as soon as possible. I will see you in a few days, sisttsi nan.”
“What? You’re not coming?”
“Moon will take you down the mountain. He can go faster alone. You can trust my grandson. He knows these mountains as well as I do. He will take you to his cabin. There is help there.”
Jacy went back down the trail for Pete. He gave his grandmother his supplies and the food he had left. Then he lifted the young woman and put her on Pete’s back, carefully hooking her injured leg around the saddle horn.
A soft, but firm word to his horse to stand still, and Jacy mounted the long-legged gelding and pulled the young woman back and tucked her securely against him, then gathered up the reins.
“I’ll be back for you,” he told Koko, “with Billy and Tate.”
“I will leave a trail for you to follow up the mountain, and keep a fire vigil at the crash site.” She looked in Jacy’s supply bag he’d given her. “There is enough food here for two days.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Jacy promised. To the young woman seated in front of him, he said, “Put your arm around my waist and hang on tight. The ride will be rough.”
“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” she whispered against his chest.
“That you remember.”
“Ja, that I remember.”
Chapter 4
He felt betrayed, but mostly he felt an overwhelming amount of guilt. He should have seen this coming. Her skills were flawless, but her heart….
Though she was Holic’s daughter, and had his blood flowing through her veins, he had always felt she was more
like her mother Mady, a gentle spirit. And it was that wholesome spirit that he had fallen in love with.
Da, he loved her. No one would ever know how much, or how much he needed to have her return that love.
Otto pulled up the collar on his leather coat, then brought the pale-gray scarf he’d given Prisca to his nose. Her sweet scent collected around him. It soothed him and made him anxious at the same time.
When he had found her gone, he had also found the cashmere scarf. He had vowed in that moment, as he’d slipped it around his neck, not to take it off until he found her and returned it to her.
Three months ago when Holic had given him the assignment as his daughter’s keeper it had felt as though he’d been given the keys to the king’s castle and all the golden eggs in the cellar. And with the gift, suddenly his life had purpose. Prisca was his purpose. To guide and protect, nurture and love.
That was the best part. His reward in return was to be close to the woman he loved. To enjoy a life where every minute of every day put him in her company.
He had loved Miss Pris forever, from the moment he had seen her at age ten. He’d been twenty and yet he had known that she was the one. He’d waited and kept his eye on her as she grew to become an adult, and in that time his love had grown, too.
Why had she left? Had she left the mission, or had she left him?
Their work was timely. It was critical that they stay on schedule. She knew that. Knew the importance of each kill. They had talked daily about their agenda. The kill-file was like a detailed map. If they followed the plan to the letter it would be as easy as shooting ducks out of the water at a summer carnival.
The only catch to the entire mission was to stay on schedule. One delay made the file useless.
He had called her phone when he’d realized she was gone. When she hadn’t answered, he had left several messages. But she hadn’t answered any of them.
Why? What had happened? Had she willingly left him?
The thought of her hurt made him crazy. He would never forgive himself if he had allowed harm to come to her.
Did she know how worried he was? How he hadn’t been able to sleep since she had left?
