Journey's End

by BJ James

  Taking that as her signal, Cat leapt to action. “I’ll make a quick call to Rob Patten, then have him make others. Those who can make it, I’ll have him send to base camp at Piegan. Those who can’t, I’ll ask to meet at the house. The ridge is closer to The Triple C. Casey and I will set up a triage and first aid station there. God willing, with a miracle we won’t need it. But we’ll be ready.”

  Ty and Merrill had scattered to see to the clothing that would be needed and Casey had shrugged into his coat and was bringing Cat’s as she finished her call. Taking it from him, she looked to Carl. “Take care, my love. And bring Valentina back to us safely.”

  Carl’s gaze held hers long and calmly, a look filled with all the words of love she wanted to hear. Touching his lips to her forehead, he managed a smile. The smile that had stolen her heart so many years before. “I’ll do the best I can.”

  In a whirl of hats and coats and boots, gathering Casey as she went, Cat left him. Before her fear for all of them spilled out.

  The plane had been down an hour. It would take another hour to organize the supplies the trek would require. Then God alone knew how long the journey to the ridge would take. They would be racing the storm and the clock. The survivors, if there were survivors, could be frozen before the rescue party reached them.

  Piegan’s Ridge was a devil, and no place to be in the dark with the best of weather. In the coming storm, a rogue and the worst sort, it could be a killer.

  The trail up Piegan’s Ridge was rough and narrow and slick, when they began the ride. The going was slow and would be slower. Though it was little consolation, they were well ahead of the pace they’d anticipated. Part was due to the fact there were three of them planning and preparing. And more than once, Ty found himself marveling at some critical point Merrill made.

  It was she who suggested that one of them go ahead on the smaller and faster snowmobile. In case some survivor stumbled on the trail down and was able to negotiate it.

  An unlikely prospect they agreed, but no one wanted to risk losing a poor soul brave enough to try. Carl volunteered to ride point. Packing the machine with as many medical and survival supplies as it would hold, he left the rest to Ty and Merrill.

  Working in the cold, they moved quickly, loading the horses in a heated trailer hitched to the Sno-Cat. The tank, as it was affectionately called, looked like nothing so much as a cross between a massive snowmobile and its namesake—a tank. By the time Ty and Merrill climbed into its cab, Carl had been away the better part of an hour.

  The way the tank must take was less direct, with narrow passages to be bypassed. Carl had base camp set up and ready for their supplies by the time the heavy machine rumbled over the last hill.

  “We have survivors. Or at least one.” He greeted them with the news before either of them left the cab. “Someone able to start a fire and savvy enough to know what to burn and how. Smelled their smoke, saw the blaze. A campfire. Maybe luck is running with us. From the position of the smoke, the plane went down in a level clearing near the trail. Barring a slide since summer, we can take the horses the whole way.”

  Neither questioned Carl’s assessment, for he was, himself, savvy enough to know the difference in a deliberate fire and a smoldering, burning aircraft. And only Ty knew the trails better.

  “Val,” Ty muttered. “She would build a fire.”

  Later it was with hope in his heart, that he led the way to the trail. And as they followed, neither Merrill nor Carl had suggested that anyone on board would have and could have made the fire.

  “Careful,” Ty called over his shoulder. “Ice.”

  The rogue storm had not hit, but the wind was rising and the temperature dropping. Earlier snowstorms had scoured their passage, leaving it like glass for great expanses. Except for these sporadic warnings, Merrill simply put her trust in Tempest and let the mare pick her own path.

  Carl rode last. On guard and ready, should either of them slip.

  There was no conversation beyond the warnings. With faces and mouths buried deeply in their wrappings, and in the keening of the wind, if any had been inclined, conversation would have been impossible.

  The afternoon was in its decline, and the light fading, as they made the last narrow turn that led to the small clearing and the wreckage strewn over it.

  “Holy Mother of God.” Carl murmured his shocked prayer for there was little left of the small craft. Nothing was recognizable. It seemed impossible that anyone could have survived a crash that reduced every part of the plane to jagged sheets of metal. A manic Paul Bunyan with a can opener couldn’t have destroyed it more completely.

  “How the hell...” Ty’s voice broke even as it was snatched away by the wind. “Who...” He couldn’t believe anyone could walk or crawl away from the chaos. Yet, the small fire still burned.

  Dismounting, hardly aware that Merrill had come to stand by his side, he looked about, trying to make some sense of it. Searching for his sister.

  The stench of fuel was heavy even in the wind. And beneath it, for those who knew it, the taint of blood.

  “Val.” His cry was ragged, as he stood frozen in place. They had been in the clearing only seconds, but it seemed hours that his mind had moved like sludge not knowing where to go, what to do.

  “Val,” he whispered as a plea, and began to move.

  Metal shrieked and rattled in the wind. Impervious to its furor, within the destruction lay the utter stillness of desolation. Nothing human moved. The land was an empty ruin.

  Then she was there, a small specter washed in crimson, rising from the ground. “Ty?”

  “Val?” His step faltered. “Dear God! Val!”

  Then he was running. With Merrill and Carl only a step behind.

  Ten

  There was music and laughter, and the hushed sound of the sea washing over a distant shore. A cloudless sky stretched unbroken to the silver rimmed horizon. The warm midday sun shone down on formal gardens lush with manicured lawns and clipped boxwoods.

  A perfect day and a perfect place for a celebration of friends. But as lovely and perfect as it was, Merrill was restless, a little ill at ease.

  She had discovered that following the maze of brick and stone lined walks would lead her to a wild and even lovelier English garden. A marvelous jumble of blooming flowers, untamed shrubs and, occasionally, something that looked suspiciously like weeds. There, in keeping with the ambience of a sunny glen, the immaculate walks gave way to wonderful winding paths. After meandering past Freedom, the stunning bronze of a woman setting free a sea hawk, they converged and ended on a narrow strip of shoreline by the estuary.

  She was tempted to take that path, to wander the wild garden, and stand on the shore, seeking a moment to solitude. But solitude would have to wait. It wouldn’t be in good taste for the guest of honor to disappear.

  So, instead, she wandered the fringes of the gathered crowd, hoping no one would notice her mood. As she walked the stone ledge of a small pool, snatches of gossip and conversation drifted to her. Phrases and voices that seemed to rise above the quiet buzz, leaping out at her in jangling notes.

  “...walked straight into the maw of the grizzly, shooting from the hip. Carl Carlsen says it was damn fine shooting and brave as hell. Was all that saved his son.” Imposing in a tuxedo nearly as old as he, Simon stood in a small group clustered on the veranda shaded by the ancient slate roof of the converted hunting lodge.

  “These mullioned doors and windows are wonderful. I can’t believe Valentina did most of the restoration herself.” This from a woman Merrill only vaguely recognized. One of Simon’s staff.

  “Guiterrez was deposed. A long, complex assignment, but worth the outcome. We all did our part, but it was Merrill who really brought him down. The amazing thing is there were no casualties.” Alexis Charles, her recent partner, talking shop. Blond and pretty, looking more like a fashion model in a gown of rose silk, she was a trained and seasoned member of The Black Watch.

  Acro
ss the pool, with voices skimming over the water, three more fellow colleagues spoke as candidly. Shielded from them by a small copse of ornamental shrubs, but with no way to turn and no escape, she could only listen, feeling trapped, becoming an unwilling eavesdropper.

  “Lord! Can you imagine it? Riding that frozen trail with a blizzard on the way, then packing the injured down in the thick of it!” Another of Simon’s staff, a voice she couldn’t place.

  “I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t.” Jim Hartwell stared down into his empty wineglass. “None of the three of us would be.”

  “Amen,” Joe Cabiness, pilot of the ill-fated plane, declared fervently. “From the look of the plane none of us should be here in the first place. It’s for sure we wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for Merrill and her team.” Tapping his glass, he muttered. “And if I had another glass of wine, I’d drink to that.”

  As they moved away in consensus, in search of more wine, Merrill plucked a small flower from a marble vase. Tearing the petals from it one by one, she watched them swirl and dip like pale pink snowflakes on the gently rippling surface of the pool. She wished more than ever that she could escape. But these were her peers and a few trusted friends, come to this isolated and picturesque inlet on the Chesapeake Bay at Valentina’s request to honor her.

  Feeling miserable, a little silly with all the accolades heaped upon her, and a whole lot guilty, she stared grimly into the bright water. As the stem fell to her feet, her fingers fretted restively over each other.

  “Try this one.” A tanned hand offered a second flower. A strong hand, attached to a wrist encased in the cuff of a white shirt peeking from the sleeve of an impeccably tailored jacket. “If this one doesn’t help,” the man to whom the hand and wrist belonged, murmured, “then we can always try the whole bouquet.”

  Turning in a started rustle of her slender skirt, Merrill looked into the face of a stranger.

  “I know.” One dark brow lifted, his head inclined as if she’d spoken. “It’s difficult for a modest woman to stand by listening to everyone around singing her praises, isn’t it?” He smiled then, the spare lines of his arresting face softening, eyes like dark emeralds glittering.

  There was an air of barbaric elegance about him, with his dark hair tipped with silver at his temples, and his body lean, obviously fit. His voice was deep, quiet, unhurried, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine an edge of command in it. Just as it wasn’t difficult to imagine that beneath the urbane persona, lurked a man who was civilized only because he chose to be.

  Yet for no reason than the smile, Merrill suspected he was capable of wicked mischief and great tenderness all at once.

  Startled by the direction of her mind and wondering where such an errant thought had come from, yet beginning to understand why this particular stranger had been included in this necessarily exclusive gathering, she picked up the thread of his conversation. “We’ve never met, how would you know who I am, or if I were modest or not?”

  “One needn’t meet you or know you to see your modesty, my dear.” His gaze was keen and piercing, yet subtle in his study, missing not one detail. In masculine appreciation with not a shred of flirtation, he noted the turquoise gown that was, indeed, modestly cut, but of a fabric that clung with a will of its own at each sway and turn of her body. Her hair had been swept to her crown in a mass of curls. Golden tendrils tumbled from their binding to drift around her shoulders and throat.

  Her life had been difficult, and her work fraught with danger, yet an ethereal innocence endured. And he knew she had no idea how alluring she was. How tempting. How deeply she was loved.

  “You were described to me only recently, in great and glowing detail. In fact the describer could speak of nothing else.” His lips moved once more in a smile. And Merrill was struck again by a sense of mischief and wickedly, delicious secrets. “Merrill Santiago, I would know you anywhere.”

  “Whoever this person is, this describer, he or she could be lying,” she suggested.

  “Never,” he drawled, letting his green gaze dwell on hers. “You were described to me as beautiful. I can see for myself that’s true, so why should any of the rest not be?”

  Merrill rolled the stem of the rose he’d given her between thumb and forefinger. This was certainly the strangest party chatter she’d ever been engaged in. “The rest?”

  “Oh, there was more. Much more.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said kindly. “All of it was true.”

  “You know that for a fact, as well, I suppose.” This was becoming a congenial sparring match. And though she would have chosen a different subject matter, Merrill discovered she was enjoying herself.

  “That you’re compassionate, and dedicated, with the look and courage of a lioness?” Suddenly any trace of teasing and mischief was gone from him. “I know that best of all. More than that, I believe it with all my heart.”

  “With all your heart,” Merrill repeated, wondering again who this enigmatic man could be, and how he would know about her at all. He wasn’t Black Watch, that much she knew for certain. Though he definitely had the look, the intriguing manner. One of Simon’s associates? Perhaps? A trusted friend? Probably. Whatever the case, whoever and whatever he was, he was direct.

  “Absolutely,” he began.

  “Rafe, darling, I see you’ve met our guest of honor.” Resplendent in beaded vest and flowing skirt, Valentina slipped her hand through the bend of his arm. Vibrant and healthy, with no abiding traces of her ordeal on the ridge, she raised her face to her husband’s kiss.

  “Actually, my love, since I was delayed, we haven’t met.” Suspiciously without expression, Rafe Courtenay met Merrill’s astonished look as he brought Valentina closer, his hand covering hers. “At least not officially.”

  “You dog!” Valentina scolded. “You’ve been teasing her, I can tell.”

  Rafe chuckled. “Only a little.”

  “I can imagine.” Smoothing the lapel of his jacket simply because she wanted to touch him, Tynan O‘Hara’s sister smiled Tynan O’Hara’s smile at Merrill. “In case you haven’t guessed, Merrill, this Cajun creature is my husband. He may look like a brigand, and he teases unmercifully, but he’s really quite civilized.”

  “Most of the time, thanks to you.” Turning from Valentina, he added, “And to you, Merrill Santiago. You asked how I could know that you’re modest and kind and brave.” A knuckle stroked his wife’s cheek, lingering briefly at the corner of her mouth. “My proof is here. Without you I wouldn’t have this scolding virago.”

  Merrill felt the blush begin. “I didn’t climb Piegan’s Ridge alone. Tynan and Carl Carlsen were there as well.”

  “Of course.” Rafe inclined his head graciously. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t show our appreciation to you.”

  “Then all went well on your trip?” Valentina addressed her husband, whose absence had been explained to Merrill as inadvertent, due to an important business matter.

  “Exactly as planned except for a little turbulence on the way home. Making us late.”

  “But you’re here now, and we can begin.” There was mischief and delight in the smile she turned on Merrill. “We have something we hope will interest you.”

  “Please, no,” Merrill protested. “The party is more than enough. I’ve done nothing to deserve all this. You were there when I needed help, all I did was return the favor.”

  “Favor!” Val arched a brow at Rafe. “Would you listen? She calls saving my life nothing more than a favor!”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Merrill tried to explain.

  “Of course you didn’t.” Valentina took her hand, “But to appease me, particularly since I’ve waited over five months for this day, come and see. Then decide if you will accept this small token, or not.”

  Merrill was suddenly contrite. The malaise that had less to do with the celebration than other concerns had made her seem surly and unappreciative. “I’d like to see, and I’
m sure what you’ve chosen for me will be wonderful.”

  “If I may be as immodest as you are modest.” Valentina’s eyes were dancing. “I think wonderful is an understatement. So, come, we’ll let you decide.”

  Rafe led the way through the small, milling crowd. Their journey was slow, with many interruptions, but at last, he escorted them across the veranda to the house. The country French architecture of the exterior was reflected in the interior as well. The main room, with one wall filled with shelves of books and wildlife carvings and another devoted to paintings and memorabilia of the bay and the sea, was a marvel in restoration. A testament to Valentina’s talents and skill.

  Beneath a towering ceiling and flanked by mullioned windows, a massive fireplace waited to warm chilly evenings. With no glassy eyed trophies to remind of its past, the hunting lodge of another era had become a peaceful haven.

  Pausing to take it all in, Merrill let herself absorb and feel, and grow comfortable. “This is beautiful.”

  “It belonged to one of my grandfathers, a couple of generations back. My mother calls him a pirate. My father, renouncing any glamour, simply opts for robber baron. When it fell into disrepair and none of the rest of the family wanted to be burdened with it, I took it,” Valentina explained.

  “And made it a home.” Some burden Merrill thought as her attention was drawn to a small carving. “The chipmunk sliding on a leaf, it looks like one of Casey’s.”

  “So it does,” her hostess murmured noncommittally.

  “Merrill,” Rafe intervened. “Why don’t you sit there on the sofa where the light is good, while I get your booty.”

  She’d barely settled on the seat he’d indicated, when he was laying a prettily decorated package on her knees. Backing away, as he wrapped his arms around his wife, both awaited judgment of their offering.