Alphas in the Wild

by Ann Gimpel

  Breathing hard, he threw his arms around her and pulled her close, his body vibrating with alarm.

  “You need to put on more clothes.” She hugged him back before stepping away.

  “What the hell were you screaming about?” He looked closely at her. “Christ! What happened to your face? Who’d you shoot at? I heard the gun.” He peered at her wounds. “That one might need a stitch.”

  “Maybe not. The cold should close it up.” It was easier to talk about her injuries than what happened.

  “Once we get to where your trail crew is, I at least want to rinse those places with antiseptic.”

  Moira blew out a breath, not sure what to say next. Before the conversation turned to her wounds, he’d asked questions she didn’t want to answer. She didn’t see how she could possibly tell him that her husband might’ve sent a raven hit squad to hassle her. It sounded so fantastic, Tim might pull some doctor thing and send her off to the loony bin. After all, he had her boss’s phone number.

  She glanced behind him. Something didn’t compute. “Who were you traveling with?”

  “Huh?”

  “I heard more than one of you coming down the trail.”

  Tim looked genuinely confused. “Nope. Just me. You’re the first person I’ve seen since I left the trailhead.”

  Okay, then...

  Had she been so overwrought from the ravens, she imagined more than one set of footsteps? To avoid wandering still farther down the metaphorical slope of her sanity, Moira edged toward more neutral territory. “Guess you decided to follow me anyway.”

  He offered her a crooked smile. “Yup. Didn’t want to let opportunity escape me twice. Besides, I just got great news. I wanted to find you so I could share it.”

  A warm glow started deep inside, but she forced herself to refocus. “Did you bring warmer stuff than what you have on?”

  He looked sheepish. “Uh-uh. Didn’t think it would be this cold. The forecast was for clear weather. And the pass took longer than I thought it would.”

  “It’s six thousand feet of climbing.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve run Western States and a few Iron Mans. I’m used to elevation gain. When my pack is light, I can cover five or six miles an hour—sometimes more. It’s how I caught up with you. By moving faster.”

  Moira didn’t bother to tell him a sponsored ultrarace with rest stations every few miles and volunteers pacing the runners, bore very little resemblance to solo backcountry travel. Speed wasn’t nearly as critical in the wilderness as having enough equipment to see you through an emergency.

  “What kind of sleeping bag do you have in there?” She pointed to his small backpack.

  Color stained his tanned face. “Um, just a bivy sack and my down jacket and pants.” He reached for her. “I thought, er hoped, we could keep each other warm.”

  She shook her head and crooked a finger at him. “Come on. We can talk about that later. Not much privacy in a trail crew camp for more than talking, though. We need to get moving. It’s too cold to stand around chewing the fat.”

  A smile transformed his face into something classically handsome. Clean lines of cheek and jaw blended into one another. “I’d follow you anywhere, mo ghrá. Lead on.”

  Moira scampered down the trail, elated Tim cared enough to come after her. But she felt wary too. If Ryan truly had sent the birds, Tim’s presence would only make things worse. The sky, which had backed off momentarily, was getting darker again, heavy clouds blotting out what was left of light from the day.

  She was shocked by how little Tim had brought with him. If the weather turned truly hideous, his best bet would be to retrace his steps and retreat over Baxter. But that option was looking less likely by the moment.

  He made a choice without consulting me, and now I’m responsible for him and me both.

  Her earlier delight faded. Another involuntary shiver ripped through her. She had a feeling—irrational though it might be—that the birds would be waiting for her near the lakes. What would she do then?

  Unfortunately, no answers came.

  “Somehow I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

  Moira turned to glance at Tim, keeping pace right behind her. “Just thinking. Sorry.”

  “Are you angry because I came after you told me not to?”

  “Maybe, a little. There’s a trail crew down below that I’m supervising. This isn’t like a regular backpacking trip where we’d have time to reconnect.”

  “Isn’t it a little late in the year for trail maintenance?” He sounded mildly curious.

  “Yeah, but we didn’t get funding approved for deadfall removal until a couple of weeks ago.” She shrugged. “Your government at its finest.”

  He laughed. “You’re telling me! I work for them too. Public Health Service.”

  “I wondered how you ended up at the clinic in Bishop.” Moira retreated behind small talk. It beat perseverating about Ryan and his pet birds.

  “It was the only way I could afford medical school.”

  “Government service to pay off your student loans?” She turned to look at him.

  He nodded. Laugh lines crinkled in the corners of his eyes when he smiled, and he had a deep cleft in his chin.

  Moira studied his walking stick. “That’s a beautiful staff. Maybe if there’s time later, I could take a closer look at the carving.”

  “Sure. It was a gift from Liam.”

  “The Druid, Liam?”

  He quirked a brow at her. “Did you ever meet him?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Grannie told me about him. To listen to her talk, I think she was half in love with him.”

  Tim laughed. “She might have been. He was quite the Lothario.”

  A snowflake hit her cheek, followed by another. The wind howled dolefully.

  “Boy, that came up fast. Wasn’t so bad when I was going uphill, but now I’m cold.” Tim’s breath whistled through his teeth. He zipped his inadequate jacket all the way closed and started jogging in place.

  Moira clicked through a few buttons on her altimeter watch and groaned. The barometer was definitely falling, which probably meant they were in for it—at least for the next few hours. She dove in without preamble. “We have to step up the pace. I’d send you back over the pass, but you don’t have enough clothes. Hopefully there are some at camp that will fit you. How cold did you think it would be anyway?”

  “Thirty?”

  “You wish.” She spun to face him. “If you’re lucky, it will bottom out at ten degrees. And that’s only if it snows. If it clears, zero is a distinct possibility.”

  “Oh.” He sounded subdued.

  Since he was a doctor, she could spare them both the lecture about how fast hypothermia could kill.

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit draconian?” His smile faltered once the words were out.

  “No. Following protocols and planning ahead are what’s kept me alive in the backcountry all these years.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “That you stay in one of the trail crew’s tents until tomorrow. If the weather clears, you should go back over Baxter and let me do my job here.”

  And if it keeps snowing, we’ll be in a world of hurt.

  His set his jaw in a stubborn line. “Goddammit, Moira. You sound like my mother. Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing—”

  “I’ve been part of too many search and rescue missions with bad outcomes. Look, Tim, if this storm keeps rolling, the only way out of here will be by chopper, either directly, or by a bird dropping skis or snowshoes for us. It’s not June. We’re headed into winter.”

  As if to underscore her words, it began snowing in earnest while they talked.

  He twisted his head from side to side, looking around him. Then he yanked his hood over his head. “Gee, you have a direct pipeline to the weather gods or something?”

  “You never know, I just might. We need to hurry. It’s coming down pretty fast. On
second thought,” she unbuckled her pack, dropped it and pulled her weatherproof parka and pants out, sliding into them, “no point in getting soaked.” She yanked the hood over her head and zipped the garment—Park Service brown, just like all her gear—all the way up.

  He stood watching her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Huh?”

  “All I could think about was surprising you and getting to explain all the things I never could before. I didn’t plan this very well.”

  A place deep in her damaged heart started to melt. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate seeing you, but this might’ve been easier if we weren’t staring down the maw of what’s starting to look like a survival marathon.”

  “Like you said, we need to get moving.”

  Moira looked at him incredulously. “Oh brother, don’t tell me you don’t have storm gear.”

  “Uh, no. Didn’t think I’d need it.” He cleared his throat, sounding uncomfortable. “Even I know my down garments will become less than worthless if they get wet.”

  “Crap. Here.” She dug back in her pack and handed him a stretchy top. “At least put this on under your jacket. It’s not much, but it’s one more layer.” She waited for him before hefting her pack and taking off down the trail at a trot. Worry for Tim’s safety ate at her. “Keep up,” she called over one shoulder. Moving’s a good hedge against the cold. The trail’s not obvious once we hit the lake basin.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “You need a mother,” she shot back, “if you come into the mountains unprepared.”

  She led the way around the lakes to where she was sure she’d find the collection of mules and tents the trail crew used. She had to correct her course a couple of times. It was snowing even harder than she anticipated, obscuring her vision. Finally, she pulled her GPS out of its case on her gun belt and started clicking keys.

  “What are you doing?” Tim sounded as if he were trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

  “Putting in the coordinates for the camp.”

  “Thank God you have them.” He wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.

  “Don’t you have gloves?”

  “Just liners. They’d soak through pretty fast.”

  Moira peered closely at him. His face had white patches that could be the beginnings of frostbite. His fingers didn’t look any better. “Put your hands in your jacket pockets and follow me. It’s only another half mile.” She tried to infuse a confidence she wasn’t feeling into her voice. It was conceivable winter could show up right now and not leave until the following May. She’d seen autumns like that in the high country. She hoped some of the crew had extra clothes for Tim. And a warm sleeping bag. The temperature had already dropped into the mid-twenties. Even if she shared her sleeping bag, she didn’t think his bivy sack, down jacket, and pants were going to cut it.

  She heard mules bray before she actually saw the camp. Moira wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard Tim mutter something about stupid and fucking freezing to death. Even underdressed to face the weather, there was something strikingly elegant about him. And he smelled wonderful. She’d never forgotten that scent. Something musky and spicy clung to him. Most people just smelled like sweat after a few hours on the trail.

  A bird cawed somewhere in the clouds, and her heart sank. The birds. The goddamned, fucking birds. She’d all but forgotten about them.

  Great. It’s snowing to beat hell. Marauding birds are out to get me. Tim’s looking hypothermic. What the fuck else could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter Four

  “Hey,” a voice called out. “That you, Ma?”

  “Yeah, so you’d better shape up. Hide the booze and dope. Tell the girls to put their clothes back on.” Moira laughed hollowly. She was glad to see the collection of cabin tents, pitched in a careful row. The wind had picked up, blasting at a good clip. Between that and the snow, visibility was less than twenty feet. Without her GPS, she wasn’t at all certain she’d have found the camp.

  “Guess I’m not the only one who tagged you that way,” Tim joked. His voice sounded thin, like he was nearly at the end of his reserves. Cold could do that to a person. It sapped everything out of you shockingly fast.

  She reached for his arm and dragged him into one of the canvas tents. Smaller versions of the ones Yosemite used for their high country camps, they were substantial: ten by fifteen feet and tall enough to stand in at the center. Extremely heavy-duty, they were plumbed for woodstoves, but she was nearly certain the crew hadn’t packed any stoves in on the mules. No one expected this freak storm.

  “Who all’s here?” She took off her pack and propped it in a corner, pulling her headlamp out. It was dim inside the tent, and she couldn’t see very well. It was also a whole lot warmer out of the wind.

  “Mitch and me.”

  “That you, Jake?” she asked, adjusting her light. “Oh, never mind. I can see now.”

  She focused the beam on a barrel-chested, dark-haired man with a full beard sitting on a three-legged stool. Dressed in his usual grease-stained down and Gore-Tex, he looked as rumpled as ever. She’d worked with him several times before. Jake liked his dope, but he was also a dependable operative—at least most of the time.

  “Thought you’d recognize my voice.” Hamming it up, Jake sounded wounded. “After everything we’ve shared—”

  “Can it,” she said brusquely, unsure if Tim would realize Jake was joking. “Who else?”

  “We’re the only ones here. Everyone else is spread between camp and the Muir Trail. Tons of deadfall there. Trail’s completely blocked a bunch of places. They were going to start with the closest snarl. It’s only a couple miles away.”

  A chilly tongue of fear bit deep. The crew should’ve aborted operations when the weather turned. If they had, they’d be getting back right about now. “When did they leave?”

  Jake looked at his watch and mumbled. “About nine.”

  “How come you and Mitch didn’t get on the mules and go round them up when you saw the barometer was dropping? Or did you even bother to check it?” Irritation made it hard to keep her voice cordial.

  “You know the answer to that.”

  She blew out an impatient breath. “Yeah. You wanted to save your own sorry hide.”

  “I could help if there are injured,” Tim said through chattering teeth.

  Shit. Nearly forgot he needs more clothes.

  “You won’t be able to do anything until you get warm. Jake, could you round up something to fit Tim?”

  “Where’d you find him?” Something ran beneath Jake’s words—maybe disapproval she’d brought an outsider into the fold.

  “On the trail. He doesn’t have enough with him. You be nice. He’s an old friend of mine. And he’s a doctor. The way things are looking, we might need one.”

  “Oh.” Jake shuffled to his feet and headed for the door. “Be right back. I think Brandon has spare clothes. Kid brought enough to practically sink the mule. Should be about the right size too.”

  “How many people are out in the storm?” Tim asked. Reflected in the light from her headlamp, his expression was serious—and worried.

  “Seven men and two women.” Moira reached for her pack, unzipped a compartment and pulled out the roster. “Crap. I suppose this means I have to go look for them.”

  “Not by yourself you aren’t.”

  She bristled, and then bit down on a sharp retort. “I hate to admit it, but you’re right. No point in getting lost myself. The mules are sure-footed, but I shouldn’t risk any more of them, either.”

  Jake scuttled back through the door with a sleepy-looking Mitch right behind him. Mitch, all emaciated six feet of him, reeked of marijuana.

  Something in Moira snapped. She stomped up to him. “No drugs. What part of that don’t you get? And certainly not during the day when you’re supposed to be working.”

  “What makes you think—?”

  “I’m your superior here. And
the law. Don’t insult both of us by lying to me. Go get the dope. All of it. And bring it here.”

  “Oh.” A sly look lit his close-set green eyes. He shoved a shock of red hair out of his face. “Wanting a hit yourself are you?”

  “Just go get it. And I swear, Mitchell, if you don’t bring every bit of it to me, I’ll see you go to jail for violating federal law and the Drug Free Workplace Act.”

  Mitch looked like he wanted to say something, but he clapped his jaws shut, turned, and left.

  She tugged the armload of clothing out of Jake’s hands and gave it to Tim. “Go put more clothes on.”

  He faded into the shadows toward the back of the tent without protest. She could only imagine how chilled he must be.

  “Any extra sleeping bags?” she asked Jake.

  He shook his head. “Nope. We were one short as it was. Not sure how that happened. Maybe it fell out of one of the mule packs on the way in.”

  “Are there woodstoves for any of the tents?”

  Jake shook his head again.

  “Okay.” She pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, trying to decide the best course of action. “There are eleven of you and five or six tents, so you’ve been sleeping two together?”

  “Basically.”

  She knew what that meant. The dopers were all in one tent. “These tents will sleep ten. We’ll put six in one and seven in another. We need warmth.”

  “What if the others don’t come back?”

  “Then whoever’s left will bunk down in here.” She thought about her satellite phone and wondered if she should call in an emergency. Moira looked at her watch. Three o’clock. “If the storm’s still kicking ass an hour from now and the rest of the crew’s not back, I’ll call headquarters.”

  Tim came forward bundled in a puffy jacket, wool hat, and thick overpants. Gloves covered his hands. Some of the color had come back into his face. He sank into one of the camp chairs and motioned toward an iso-butane cook stove. “Mind if I heat some water?”