Tag, You're It!

by Penny McCall

  Tag was actually using it to point at the back wall, the one the cabin shared with the stable. “Don’t know what you were saying,” he continued, “but I could hear your voice.”

  She looked around, saw the beer bottle by the bed, broken. That explained a lot. “I hope that was empty.”

  “You didn’t leave me much choice. I couldn’t get at the knots with my teeth, the way you tucked the ends between my wrists and tied them so tight.”

  The interchange—seeing as it didn’t contain gunfire— steadied her nerves. “Guess I didn’t think of everything,” she said, edging to one side as she talked, trying not to be obvious.

  “Don’t bother,” he said, pointing the gun at the radio. “I disabled it.”

  “Which means you don’t want to shoot me.”

  “True, but I’m not so sure about you. And since the least you’ll do is tie me up again, I think I’ll hang on to the guns.”

  He was between her and the only exit, but Alex kept her snow gear on anyway. There wasn’t much chance she’d be able to get one of the guns from him. That meant her most likely escape was going to put her outside.

  She went to the haphazard stack of boxes in the corner, digging out some power bars and flipping him one, deliberately high. When he looked up to catch it she slipped a couple more in her pocket.

  “What’s this?” Tag asked.

  “Dinner.”

  He studied it for a second then chucked it over his shoulder, pulled out a chocolate bar, and unwrapped it. “This,” he took a huge bite and talked around it, “is dinner. Or at least a respectable dessert.”

  Alex went still, keeping her eyes off the chocolate and on Tag. “You went through my things.” Pretty thoroughly if he’d found the stash of candy bars she kept in a place that was difficult for even her to get to.

  “Yep. You were holding out on me.” He brandished the candy bar by way of explanation. “And you have boring taste in lingerie.”

  “You didn’t find that in my underwear drawer.”

  Tag just grinned.

  “You try riding a horse and hiking all day in lace panties and you’ll learn the true meaning of chafing.”

  “Gosh, that sounds fun, but I left all my lace panties at home.” He took another bite of chocolate.

  Alex’s mouth watered, and her thigh muscles started quivering.

  “You want one?” Tag asked her.

  “I’ll stick with this, thanks.” She unwrapped her power bar and bit into it, trying to chew like it didn’t bear a closer resemblance to Jackass’s dinner than Tag’s. “So now what?”

  “How far is it to the nearest town?”

  Alex wandered to the bed, leaned against the sturdy log footboard. “Why should I answer your questions?”

  “You want me gone, I’m trying to leave.”

  “Not with my rifle, you’re not.”

  “Fine, you can have it back,” he said, although he didn’t hand it over. “I’ll take the horse.”

  “You can do that, but he’s a horse, not a homing pigeon. He isn’t trained to start at one place and end up at another. He goes where you tell him to go, or he stands still.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re not going to try to stop me?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll track you in the morning.”

  “I’ll be long gone by then.”

  “You’ll be dead by then. It’ll drop well below freezing tonight, and it’s dark out there—and not city dark, either. No ambient light, and a nice heavy cloud cover so no moon or stars. You won’t be able to see your hand in front of your face.”

  “It’s seventy-five miles to the nearest town,” she continued between bites. “My coat won’t fit you, so how are you going to stay warm? And even if you make it that far, the town consists of a half-dozen businesses, a few homes, and the sheriff’s office. What do you think the chances are that A,” she ticked off on her fingers, “they don’t know Jackass on sight, B, they won’t ask you how you came by him, and C, you won’t end up in jail within thirty minutes of your arrival?”

  Tag blew out a breath, leaning back against the door. “Got all the angles figured, don’t you?”

  “They’re not angles, they’re facts. That’s the difference between you and me, Donovan. I deal with reality, you seem to think you can create your own.”

  “This is dealing with reality? Seems to me you’re running away from reality.”

  “You don’t know anything about my life.”

  “And you don’t know anything about mine. If you want to stay here and bury your head in the sand, that’s fine with me. I got dragged into this thing and I’m going to do every damn thing I can to get out of it in one piece. If you had any sense you’d do the same.”

  Alex opened her mouth to fire back at him, but he held up a hand.

  “Shut up,” he said, which would have fueled her temper if she hadn’t heard what he’d heard. Another engine, but not a plane. Far, far worse than a plane.

  Just like that her anger iced over. She exchanged a look with Tag, and suddenly they weren’t opponents anymore. They weren’t exactly friends, either, but they were in the same boat, and if they didn’t want it to sink under them they were going to have to row together.

  “Looks like you were wrong about the helicopter.”

  She stared at him, speechless, if only for a second before indignation kicked in. “So I was wrong. Why are you listening to me anyway? This is my first experience with… I don’t even know what this is.”

  He slung the rifle over his shoulder by its strap. “Don’t go near the window.”

  “I’m not stupid.” But she was afraid, and she didn’t like it. “The roof is made of logs at least twelve inches thick. Bullets aren’t getting through.”

  Right on cue, something thumped on the roof. She didn’t know how she managed to hear it around the distinctive whump-whump-whump of helicopter blades, Jackass whinnying and banging in his stable, and the roar of the fireplace from the constant change in air pressure outside, but she did. So did Tag. Both sets of eyes swiveled up then down to collide again, both brains coming to the same conclusion. They weren’t shooting.

  Tag voiced his suspicion first. “What about fire?”

  “There’s a foot of wet snow on top of the roof,” Alex said.

  Tag moved to the door, eased it open, and pointed his pistol up in the air, taking a couple of wild shots at the helicopter.

  Alex heard the bullets ping off metal, then a couple more thuds, a muffled whoosh, and the sound of the helicopter beginning to fade.

  Tag stepped all the way outside and took a cautious look around the corner of the cabin. “I think it’s gone,” he said, coming back inside, “but we have another problem. There was a pile of hay on this side of the cabin.”

  “Was?”

  Right on cue smoke began to curl between the chinks in the logs.

  “I wish I could create my own reality now,” Tag said.

  “You can’t, so I guess you’ll have to come with me.” Alex headed for the door. “According to you I’m good at running away.”

  Tag gave her a look. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

  “We aren’t going to know each other long enough for never.”

  “Maybe we could put out the fire before we part company,” Tag deadpanned.

  She shook her head and walked to the door, listening for a second. No whump-whump, so she crooked her finger for Tag to follow her outside. They stood shoulder to shoulder a couple of seconds, watching the conflagration race up the haystack. Before a full minute had passed, the entire wall was ablaze and the flames were starting on the roof. The snowmelt dripping off the eaves did nothing but create steam to add to the smoke curling into the sky.

  “This cabin is about a hundred and fifty years old,” Alex said.

  “That explains the lack of plumbing.”

  “Exactly. What are you going to put the
fire out with? Snow? Or maybe you think we can open bottles of water fast enough to soak wood that’s been drying out for a century and a half and was just hit with a gas bomb?”

  He caught her around the waist and shoved her toward the cabin’s front door. “You better get whatever you want out of there while you still can.”

  Alex dashed inside and grabbed her emergency pack— flashlight, flares, first aid kit—and the satchel that held her important papers. Tag was right behind her, but he wasn’t doing anything useful. “I’d suggest you get the blankets off the bed,” she said to him on her way out the door. “You’re going to need them.”

  By the time she came around front with Jackass half saddled and dragging the supply sled, Tag was coming out of the cabin, one blanket over his head and another wadded up in his arms. “Supplies,” he said, opening the blanket to show her about a dozen bottles of water and a case of power bars.

  She took six bottles and shoved three into each of the saddlebags, then put some power bars in her pockets.

  “What about the rest of it?” Tag wanted to know.

  “This isn’t Donner Pass,” Alex said. “Trust me, I know how to pack for a trip. I’ve had all that experience, remember?”

  “I take it back,” Tag said. “I’ve only been with you for a few hours and it already feels like forever.”

  Alex opened her mouth, but the sound of the helicopter stuffed the witticism back down her throat. Or maybe it was her heart she was choking on, because it was sure as hell trying to jump out of her chest. She spun around, saw the copter lifting into the air at the other end of her valley.

  Tag grabbed her by the wrist, but before he could decide which direction to manhandle her in, the helicopter zoomed off, heading away from the cabin. Alex was relieved—until she heard the growling whine of snowmobile motors. Her mouth was still open, but Tag found his voice first.

  “Apparently that thing was carrying more than firebombs.”

  Chapter Four

  “DAMN,” ALEX SAID TO TAG, HER EYES ON THE snowmobiles. “What did you do to tick them off? Besides being you?”

  “That seems to be enough in this part of the world.”

  “You really think geography is the problem?”

  “I’d love to stand here and debate my downturn in luck since I crossed the Mississippi,” Tag said, “but you’d have to have an open mind first.”

  “You blow into my life and ruin it, and you can stand there and accuse me of being overly suspicious?”

  “What do you want, another apology?”

  “Yes, but it would be insincere, so I’ll settle for having my rifle back.”

  He handed it over, no argument. That seemed odd until Alex cracked it open and saw that the barrels were empty. She held her hand out, but no shells magically appeared on her palm. “Well?” she said to Tag.

  He met her gaze, glanced in the general direction of the snowmobiles, then back at her, clearly debating. “How do I know you won’t shoot me?” he wanted to know.

  “You don’t, but I can promise you won’t be my first choice.” Still no shells. “They’re gonna be here in like two minutes. An immediate decision would be good.”

  Tag didn’t come to one so she stiff-armed the Winchester hitting him across the chest with it.

  “Oomph,” he said, rubbing his ribs. “That hurt.”

  The look on his face probably matched the irritation in his voice, but Alex didn’t stick around to see it. She took a deep breath and held it, heading back into the cabin while it was only filled with smoke. “Bruised ribs you can live with,” she said when she came back out, “it’s the bullet holes that’ll kill you.”

  She loaded the gun in her hand, sighted down the barrel at the guy on the nearest snowmobile, and shot. In the light from the growing fire she saw him jerk. Another ten seconds and he slumped over the controls. His snowmobile took a sharp left and the other sled crashed into it. Neither of the drivers got up.

  “Jesus,” Tag said, sounding a little shell-shocked.

  “He’s not dead.” Alex held up her hand, showing him what she held. “Tranquilizer gun.”

  Tag blew out a breath, ran a hand through his hair.

  “Why are you so relieved?” Alex demanded. “And why didn’t you shoot at them?”

  “I shot at the helicopter.”

  “But you didn’t do it any damage, so you’re either a really bad shot or you weren’t trying very hard.” She walked over to where Jackass had been waiting patiently and picked up his reins. “In light of recent developments, I’m leaning toward Door Number Two. What I don’t know is why you’re reluctant to shoot at the guys who tried to kill you. Three times.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want to explain a couple of dead bodies.”

  She gave him a long, level look. “You seem to have an aversion to explaining things. It’s irritating.”

  “You’re driving me crazy, too,” Tag muttered.

  “Then my work here is done.” But it wasn’t. Alex looked back at the cabin, at four years of her life going up in flames, and got good and ticked off.

  “We should get moving,” Tag said. “One of those guys is going to be out for…”

  “At least four hours,” Alex supplied.

  “I don’t know if the other guy is hurt. If he’s not, we can only hope he’s less interested in coming after us than he is in keeping his friend from freezing to death by bringing him to warm up at this nice, convenient fire.”

  She rounded on him. Even if she’d been able to express what she was feeling, words were unnecessary.

  “We need to take advantage of the head start,” Tag said. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

  “Yeah, that helps. If you want to make me feel better, tell me this is about world peace or… something equally critical,” she finished when she couldn’t come up with anything bigger than that.

  “It’s not world peace,” Tag said, “but it’s important enough to the guys in the plane to try to kill me.”

  She crossed her arms and waited.

  “Ever hear of the Lost Spaniard?” he asked.

  Her mouth dropped open and for a second she gaped at him. Then she did the one thing she never could have imagined under the circumstances. She threw her head back and laughed.

  ———

  “IT’S COLD BACK HERE.”

  “We’re outside,” Alex said. “It’s spring in the mountains. It’s cold everywhere.”

  You’d never know it to look at her, swaying along with Jackass’s ambling gait, not hunching into her collar or blowing on her hands. Of course, she was wearing sheepskin and she was mounted on a nice, warm horse. Tag was wrapped in a couple of thin blankets and huddled on the supply sled, which spent more time plowing through the snow than gliding over it. His ass was wet. And frozen.

  “Isn’t this one of those times we should be sharing body heat?”

  Alex reached forward to give the horse a couple of fond pats. “Jackass and I have all the body heat we can handle, thanks.”

  “You’re doing this because I pointed a gun at you, right?”

  “I’m doing this because you burned my cabin down.”

  “I didn’t burn it down.”

  She half turned in the saddle to look at him. Even in the darkness he knew that expression. It made him defensive in a way he couldn’t ignore. “Fine,” he said, “so I had the bad luck to fall on you.”

  “Bad luck for me,” she muttered, turning back around.

  “Then I guess you could say it was your bad luck that resulted in your cabin being burned down.”

  “You could say that ‘til hell froze over and I’d still blame it on you.”

  “This is hell, and it has frozen over,” Tag said, peering around and finding nothing but trees and snow. There’d been nothing but trees and snow since they’d left the cabin behind. And cold. You’d think the frigid air would numb some of the pain of falling out of a plane, but no, the cold made his bruises sting and his joints ache like an arthrit
ic granny.

  The only good thing about the journey was that it seemed to be all downhill.

  “Trust me, this isn’t hell,” Alex said grimly. “Hell is a long way east of here.”

  No, Tag thought. Hell was being responsible for the death of the best friend you’d ever had. And if he kept thinking like that he’d have to roll off the sled and put him out of his misery. If Alex Scott didn’t do him that favor first. “I’ll let you know when I get there,” he said, “which will be right after I freeze to death.”

  She sighed dramatically and reined Jackass in, climbing down from the saddle and pulling out the flashlight she kept in her emergency pack. “Not exactly Indiana Jones, are you?”

  Tag peered up at her, blinking in the sudden light. “I never said I was.”

  He didn’t really look the part either. No fedora, no scarred bomber jacket. With his dark hair ruffled by the wind and a day’s growth of stubble, he had the scruffy part down, but the physical resemblance ended there. It wasn’t the physical that had made her think of Indiana Jones, though. It was the impression that the guy shivering and glaring at her from the sled like a sulky little boy was also a guy who could hold his own when things got rough. The kind of guy who could fall out of a plane, wake up a prisoner, and still proposition her.

  The kind of guy she needed to be wary of.

  “I’m on the verge of a hypothermic coma. How much farther is it?” he asked. “Where’s the town?”

  “We’re not there yet.”

  “Then why are we stopping?”

  “I’d never forgive myself if you sink into a hypothermic coma.”

  Tag gave her a look that made her grin. Probably not the reaction he was going for. “Jackass needs a break,” she said, “we’ll walk for a while.”

  “We?”

  “Walking will get your blood pumping, warm you right up.”

  “Sure,” Tag muttered, sounding even crankier, if possible. He tried to climb off the sled and promptly fell on his face in the snow.

  Alex watched him flounder for a minute or so before she hauled him up by his armpit.

  “Thanks,” he said, scrubbing the snow off his face, “knees don’t seem to want to unbend.” He looked down, but the joints in question were well below the snow line. “My ankles aren’t too great, either, but I’m sure the pain will go away when frostbite sets in.”