Take Only Pictures

by Laina Villeneuve

  “But they never disturb a family pic-a-nic,” Dozer said, not as quietly in a pretty decent Yogi Bear impression.

  “They’re smart?” Gabe gasped.

  “Smarter than the average bear,” Dozer continued.

  “You grow much more hair on that face, and people will start to believe you’re a bear,” Gabe said.

  “Let’s see the expert lady try to scare me off.”

  “Wouldn’t work. You hear banging pans and come running for supper.”

  “If she were supper, you bet I’d come running,” Dozer purred.

  Kristine reached beyond her brother to smack the large cowboy, unable to take more of their banter. Less than a minute later, though, her brother gasped again. “Bears get into TRASH CANS? Even if the LID is on?”

  Even Kristine had a hard time suppressing a giggle. Surely, this woman had to know that people who worked in the backcountry had the sense to do what they could to keep bears out of the outfit or their camps. No one wanted to be in the backcountry with hungry guests and have to explain that they’d lost all of their food to a domesticated bear.

  She took advantage of the opportunity to evaluate Gloria unimpeded. Again, she appreciated her confidence. Clearly, Gloria was used to addressing large groups of people and commanding their respect. She was professional, ticking through her points, but Kristine had to agree with the cowboys at the table about the usefulness of her information.

  Not that she minded, Kristine smiled. The ranger could be reciting the elevation of all of the peaks in the Minarets and giving rainfall data for the last hundred years, and Kristine would have listened. Gloria had no trouble projecting her low but powerful voice through the room. Kristine remembered what it was like in normal conversation and took a moment to wonder what it would be like brought down to an intimate whisper. She imagined that voice raising the hair just behind her ear, but before she could anticipate what she’d be saying, the words Gloria had uttered snapped her out of her reverie.

  “Did she say something about shooting the bears?” she whispered to Gabe.

  “Yeah,” he said, sitting up straighter. “With rubber bullets.”

  Kristine quickly shifted away from Gloria’s physical attributes to what her intellect had to offer about dealing with the animals in the backcountry.

  “It’s important to establish that the area you inhabit is your den and that they are not welcome. Bears are extremely territorial, and if you claim the territory effectively, with noisemakers and some zings to their hide, they’ll get the message that they need to forage elsewhere.”

  The entire café was silent.

  “At the end of the week Leo will help me set up a practice area in the meadow where we’ll have the opportunity to practice some of the techniques I went over tonight.”

  “The Forest Service is going to sign off on our carrying in the backcountry?” a skeptical Dozer shouted out.

  Kristine admired the way the ranger deftly shepherded the conversation back to how she hoped Leo’s employees could participate in improving the balance between human and nature. After a half hour or so, the questions ceased, the crew cleared their plates and drifted to their evening chores.

  Kristine sat tipped back in a chair on the porch that ran along the main building, her boots resting on the railing. Waiting for the rest of the corral staff to emerge from the store, she enjoyed an after-supper ice cream. Who was she kidding, she thought, letting the chair’s feet thump back to the porch. She was sitting there hoping to get another glimpse of the presenter. She toyed with the idea of inviting her to join the group which had decided to get a campfire going after the evening feed.

  Again, she remembered her promise to herself. By facing her past instead of continuing to run, she could use that strength to finally stand up to the force of her father. She could leave the ranch and find her own path as a professional photographer. A summer fling sounded enticing, especially after being in the small, socially dry town of Quincy for six months, but she knew that it would only distract her from getting on her own feet.

  Having gone through the kitchen to the store, the corral crew emerged from the door on her left just as Gloria exited the diner’s door on her right. Did Gloria look pleased to see her sitting there? Meeting her eyes, Kristine felt a pull between them, the instinct that had her fantasizing about kissing her when they’d first met instead of offering to point out her boss.

  “Teeny!” Dozer shouted, making her whip her head in the opposition direction. “There’s a hay hook with your name on it up at the corrals if you’ve still got something to prove.”

  Kristine ground her teeth. He hadn’t changed at all, and she found that she still had a difficult time not letting him get under her skin. True, she had felt the need to keep up with the guys back then, but she’d had to when they always treated her like a helpless girl. Risking another glance in Gloria’s direction, she met those blue eyes once again. She seemed to be observing the scene with interest. Best to walk away now, Kristine told herself. Their paths weren’t likely to cross, and it would be easier to resist the very real temptation she presented if Kristine didn’t spend any more time talking to her.

  She sighed, bowing her head before she pushed to stand and join the crew stepping off the porch to the hard-packed dirt yard between the building and the corrals, not to prove anything to Dozer but to prove to herself that she had returned a different person, that she was in control.

  Chapter Six

  Gloria enjoyed her walk back to the campground, taking in the details of the mountains she would call home for the summer. A gentle breeze played on the Jeffrey pines, the air carrying their faint vanilla sweetness. Far down in the valley as she was, direct sunlight disappeared early, leaving the rest of the day to fade to darkness.

  She found the campground as deserted as she’d left it. Besides her ancient camper there were only two other vehicles backed into campsites, which didn’t surprise her. Mid-June was too early for any but the most serious of campers and backpackers. Most families traveled later in the summer when the temperatures were friendlier, though they would pay in mosquito bites. Gloria enjoyed the colder months with minimal pests, both insect and humans, to disrupt her solitude. During the summer, she’d talk to hundreds of people a day and feel completely sapped. These quiet times recharged her batteries.

  Wasn’t that why she’d turned down Sol’s invitation to join the cowboys at their campfire pit? Part of her current project did involve the crew, but beyond a few meetings, she wasn’t likely to work with them. Usually, the local Forest Service crew were the only ones she saw regularly, and she accepted invitations to hang out primarily out of professional courtesy. Tonight, though, she was tempted by the group of cowboys. She recalled how unruly they’d been in the meeting, the classic back-row students poking fun the whole time, not taking her seriously at all.

  She could pretend it was their behavior that kept her gaze returning to the back, but she knew that it was the tall cowgirl who had captured her interest and held it. Thinking about Kristine brought a smile to her lips. She had a youthful playfulness about her but a cleverness in her banter that suggested she was older than her fair skin and tousled brown hair suggested. She wondered how much she was likely to see her during the summer. Surely she’d be at the welcome-back campfire Sol had mentioned to her during dinner. The few minutes she’d been in Kristine’s presence had piqued her curiosity. She’d felt a spark when their hands met and the way Kristine’s eyes had traveled down her body made her feel like she was charting a course for her hands. Just the thought sent a warm rush through her.

  Her campfire pit sat cold and empty. She could skip a fire altogether and bundle up in her camper with her book…she shivered involuntarily…or she could take a chance and test the warmth of the company Sol offered. Turning on her heel, she headed back in the direction of the Lodge.

  “Ms. Fisher,” a deep voice boomed. “I thought campground duties had claimed you.”

  Glor
ia paused to let one of the back-row cowboys catch up to her.

  “No campground duty for me. I’m a biologist, not a host,” she explained. “My specialty is actually scaring off unwanted guests.”

  “That mean I should be feeling scared right now?” A familiar smile played on his lips.

  Gloria tilted her head, trying to discern why she felt like she recognized his smile. “I’m off duty.”

  “Gabe Owens,” the cowboy said, offering his hand.

  Recognizing the last name Kristine had given her, Gloria decided charm must run in their genes. At five foot seven, she was used to men being taller than she was, but this man towered over her. He was the classic tall, dark and handsome cowboy from the westerns, with a thick mustache and close-cropped hair. She took his hand and held it long enough that he began to look worried. She gave a final hard squeeze before saying, “You were one of the peanut gallery. Were you Yogi or Boo- Boo Bear?”

  Gabe tucked his chin and removed his hat, looking appropriately chastised. “Just a cowboy, ma’am, and you know cowboys are very near to rascals who are practically heathens. I do apologize. Let me make it up to you? We’ve got a campfire going to warm your outsides and some drinks that are sure to warm your insides.”

  Gloria studied the cowboy, wondering if flirting was a staff requirement at the Lodge. “Lead the way,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to sit through my lecture. I imagine you and the other Boo-Boos must have a lot of experience with bears.”

  Gabe shot a broad smile and looked relieved. “Yeah, we do our best to keep them at bay. Haven’t had too many run-ins the years I’ve been here. Mostly the Dumpster down by the café and the campgrounds that get hit the hardest if I remember correctly.”

  “How long have you been working for Lodgepole Pines?”

  He laughed. “Everyone just calls it The Lodge.”

  “Thanks for cluing me in to that,” Gloria said.

  Gabe scratched the back of his head as he calculated. “This makes my seventh year here. Not that Leo gives out any fancy pens or anything.”

  Gloria felt scrutinized by the corral staff as she approached with Gabe. Eyes moved from him to her. A few of the cowboys gave Gabe a facial thumbs-up with the purse of their lips and slight nod. She didn’t see the one person she had hoped to see, the only one she wouldn’t want thinking she was here for Gabe’s company.

  “You’re welcome to sit anywhere,” Gabe said. “I’ve gotta grab my guitar from my truck, but I’ll be right back.”

  Gloria sat upwind of the firepit and watched the group work together to stoke the fire, sparks flying as they dropped on large sticks of wood. A short, broad cowboy with more facial hair than she’d ever seen on a human approached her.

  “Dozer,” he drawled, offering his hand. “Like a drink?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” she said.

  “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ve got just about anything you’d want in my cabin there.” His chin jutted in the direction of the cabin behind them, and his voice dripped innuendo, confirming her suspicion about the flirting requirement.

  A woman slid a possessive arm around the man’s waist. “As long as it’s Jim Beam.” She held out her hand. “I’m Sandy. I’m cooking for Dozer’s trips this year.”

  And you’re welcome to that fine specimen of a man, Gloria thought as she shook the woman’s hand, not sure how to relate to her that she was in no way offering competition. “You weren’t at dinner,” Gloria said. She had a skill for remembering faces and names.

  “No time,” Sandy said. “I have to get my kitchen together. We’re off on the Horseshoe Meadows trip at the end of the week.”

  “Everyone is required to attend the rifle training with rubber bullets at ten on Friday,” Gloria said. “It’s my understanding that you typically sleep near the food to prevent nighttime raids?”

  “I’m there to do the protecting,” Dozer said, his chest puffed out. “I haven’t ever lost any food out in the backcountry.” He glanced around the campfire, missing Sandy’s eye roll. “Where’s Teeny? We lose her to the campground girls already?”

  Gloria’s ears perked at the question, remembering what the store clerk had said about this Teeny being good. The cowboys must be her source of information. The youngest cowboy at the fire looked surprised. “I thought she was joking about being invited down to the campground by one of our guests in Campsite Seventeen today,” he said.

  Dozer slapped his thigh. “Oh, ho! She got one already? Can’t say I’m surprised. Teeny always did take the girls seriously.”

  “Too bad you don’t take women as seriously,” Kristine said as she strode up to the fire, shrugging into a thick tan coat. Distracted by the banter, Gloria had missed Kristine’s approach, and seeing her again produced a tickle of excitement. Kristine pinned Dozer with a furious glare. “And it’s Kristine.”

  Kristine. Teeny. Gloria’s mind got busy matching the woman who had some sort of reputation that the cowboys and store clerk had been talking about with her own initial response, when she felt the cowgirl’s eyes on her. Kristine’s expression shifted again, but Gloria didn’t know her well enough to interpret it. It was not delight, but it wasn’t dread either. Gloria felt herself warm as Kristine held on to her gaze. Gabe’s voice broke the contact, allowing Gloria to release the breath she’d been holding.

  “Quit picking on my sister before she decides to hightail it out of here again,” he said, returning with a guitar. “I trusted you’d be giving her a better welcome back than this.”

  She couldn’t help notice how appealing Kristine was in her tight Wrangler jeans. The coat she had added concealed her tailored plaid shirt that, tucked in, highlighted her narrow hips. It added to her rugged appeal that Gloria was sure went over well with vacationers. It was easy to imagine women getting swept off their feet.

  “It’s you she’s doing the favor for,” Dozer said. “Us she quit out on, no goodbye, no nothing.”

  A tense silence followed his statement, and it was clear in the way everyone looked at Kristine that they wanted an answer from her. Gloria saw a blush rise on her cheeks and wondered what could throw off the woman who had seemed so sure of herself in earlier conversation.

  “I needed a change of scenery,” Kristine said.

  “Didn’t the scenery down at the campground change enough to suit you?” Dozer goaded.

  “Drop it,” Gabe said.

  “What? It’s no secret how she chased tail. Always wanted to have what we’ve got.” Dozer reached down and rearranged his package.

  Kristine’s color deepened. She’d opened her mouth to reply but bit back whatever it was when Sol walked up behind Dozer and roughly patted his back.

  “You’re the only one who’s ever been in love with that thing,” Sol growled. “Where the hell’s the Jim Beam, and why aren’t you playing that goddamned thing?” he barked at Gabe. The entire demeanor of the campfire changed as the old man pushed through the group and sat next to Gloria.

  “Don’t let these pissheads scare you off, girl,” he said, pouring two cups of bourbon and handing one to her. She blinked and accepted the cup, wondering where the conversation would have gone if Sol had not interrupted. She watched Kristine as she assessed the seating options, caught her eye and motioned to the chair beside her, inviting her to sit.

  Again, she couldn’t read Kristine’s expression. After a moment’s hesitation, she took a few steps and dropped into the camp chair to Gloria’s left. She raised her lips in a courteous smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her shoulders still held tension as she opened a microbrew and tilted it back.

  They sat in silence as the rest of the group settled in, and again Gloria wondered about the group’s history, why Kristine had left and why she was back now. Kristine rolled the bottle in her hands, seemingly uncomfortable in the circle, and Gloria struggled to think of something appropriate to say. Gabe tuned his guitar. She didn’t recognize the song, but a few voices joined Gabe’s. Kristine finally br
eathed out, appearing to relax a little. She glanced at Gloria and offered the smile that had captivated her in the café.

  Gloria took Kristine’s smile as an all clear. “So…Teeny? How does a woman of your stature get a nickname like that?”

  “Ugh. I was a late bloomer,” she responded, swigging from her bottle. “I was a regular beanpole when I was seventeen. But later, even when my size didn’t match the name, it was their way of reminding me of my place. You heard Dozer, I’m sure. They’ve always seen me as the tagalong for wanting to learn what they were doing…well packing the mules anyway. I never wanted to cook for the overnight trips or lead the day rides. I’ve always wanted to be with the stock, and some didn’t take to that too well.” Her eyes stayed on her bottle instead of targeting anyone in the circle.

  “You look a lot like your brother. Who’s older?”

  “He lords his seven inches over me, but I’ve got two years on him, and I don’t ever let him forget that.”

  Gabe wrapped up a song, and Dozer shouted across the campfire. “Teach me that one you say works wonders on the ladies.”

  Sandy smacked Dozer’s arm.

  “It’s good for tips,” he defended himself.

  “I’m sure that’s Kristine’s excuse, too,” said a cowboy so lanky his chest seemed concave. He wore a mean expression with a hawkish nose and dirty blond mustache. She recognized the speaker as Leo’s son and read the animosity in the eyes that blazed in Kristine’s direction.

  “Nothing wrong with being a flirt,” Kristine said, lightheartedly, eyes not meeting Nard’s.

  Dozer guffawed. “Your reputation goes way beyond flirting!”

  “C’mon. I was a teenager away from my parents trying to set a good example for my little brother. Sing that George Strait song for us. The chords are easy enough for Dozer, and it’s always a crowd-pleaser.”

  Gloria noticed Kristine’s hands tight on the bottle she held and realized that she was uncomfortable with the ribbing from her friends. She could easily read the dynamics between Dozer and Kristine, his crassness something she, too, experienced from colleagues who argued that their pushing the line with their jokes was their way of accepting her as “one of the guys.” His taunts, though, didn’t rattle Kristine in the same way Nard’s did. He’d fixed his hard stare on Kristine, and she studiously kept her eyes from him.