by J. Reichman
Nick put a pillow against the bed’s headboard and leaned back against it. He watched Lyn strip off her underwear and reach for her nightgown.
“Leave it off.” She looks magnificent in candlelight.
“But . . .”
“Only Zenia and Logan here down the hall.”
“That’s right.” Lyn propped up her pillow and joined her husband in bed. “No more patients occupying our house.”
“I’d like to find out about their treatment and how they progress, especially Andy.”
“I wrote out specifics about him and talked to the paras. He’ll need psychiatric help.”
“I think Darren will be fine. Give him antibiotics to fight infection. Frank will go through rehab.”
Lyn scooted closer and put her head on Nick’s shoulder. He repositioned to hug her.
“Doctor and nurse discuss patients,” she said.
Nick chuckled. “Brett wants me to go tomorrow as he said a doctor might be needed. I think he plans to shoot the killer. Maybe wound him.”
“You have experience at removing bullets. Did you pack that doohickey?”
“Yes. Wish I had more antibiotics and pain killers. I’ve been thinking. When we come back here, how about adding a clinic onto this house to deal with emergencies? I was so unprepared for what we’ve faced in the last few days.”
“You’ve performed brilliantly.” Lyn kissed him. “Even delivered a baby.”
Nick chuckled. “Forgot about that. What do you think of my idea?”
“I don’t know. Would it be for initial care only? Outpatient stuff?”
“I’m not planning to build a hospital. We’d still call an ambulance, but it’d be a place people could come to for prompt care.”
“You’d give up your practice?”
He didn’t reply for some time. Hadn’t thought of that. Maybe Lyn could give up nursing. She’s been a trauma nurse. Could deal with emergencies. “Maybe I haven’t thought it through.”
“We’ll talk more about it.”
“Tomorrow will be a fine day.” Nick slipped his hand beneath the covers. What great breasts. “They’ll evacuate those at Shannon’s. I want you to get a room there. Zenia, too.”
“Um.” Lyn squirmed. “I plan to. The sheriff will come. You’ll be gone.”
“You can give him all the information. The pictures on the phones, too.” Nick scooted down into the bed and rearranged his pillow.
“I’ll worry about you, Nicky.”
“Nothing to worry about, Buttercup. Now blow out that candle and come here.”
Lyn leaned over and kissed him. She blew out the candle.
TWENTY-SIX
As Nick watched, Brett placed a saddle blanket on Cruz's back Tuesday morning and adjusted it to his satisfaction. He tossed the saddle into position. "Now this is the tricky part." He pulled the stirrup up and rested it on the saddle, reached under Cruz for the girth and pulled it through the buckle. "Got to get it tight or your saddle will turn when you try to mount. Wait until the horse exhales. Pull it as tight as you can. Do it twice if you need to."
"I think I've got it," Nick said and placed a blanket on Vanilla's back.
Brett watched as Nick saddled the horse. He checked the saddle. "You can pull it tighter than that."
Nick tightened it further and Brett tested it again. "Good. We'll get the packs on these horses and be off."
Chuck Hardin's Bronco skidded to a stop. Carrying a duffel and wearing a sidearm, Chuck marched to the gate. "Tried to leave without me, didn't you?"
Nick glanced at Brett, wondering what he would do.
Chuck opened the gate, placed his duffel on the ground and stalked to the barn. He led a horse out, threw a saddle blanket on its back, returned to the barn and came out with a saddle.
Brett glared and rubbed his chin. "Where'd you get the gun?"
"Cabin six." Chuck fastened the girth.
"I believe that's my gun." Brett paced menacingly toward Chuck.
"I borrowed it." Chuck turned toward Brett. "You'll get it back."
"You already shot one person."
"It was an accident."
"I don't want any more accidents." Brett held out his hand. "Give it to me."
"You and Jeff have guns."
"We have rifles. This isn't going to be a shootout. Now give me the gun."
Chuck stood his ground for a moment. "If it means that much to you." He unbelted the holster and handed it to Brett.
Brett took the holstered gun to Nora. "Keep that for me."
"Sure." Nora turned to Lyn. "Why don’t you join me at the Lodge?"
"Great. We can worry together."
"We're ready to go," Brett said.
Nick reached over the fence and hugged his wife. "I wish we could keep in touch."
"Be careful, Nicky." Lyn kissed her husband.
Nick mounted Vanilla. Brett took the lead with a packhorse. Nick followed. He glanced back to see Jeff, leading a packhorse behind him. They angled to the southwest. Vanilla walked slowly, seeming to have no interest in her surroundings, her eyes on the horse ahead of her. Brett sat straight and stiff, his hand on the reins balled into a fist. Helpless to lessen the tension, Nick listened to the conversation behind him.
"He acts like he's some God Almighty," Chuck said.
"He knows the country. Knows where Wade will be."
"If I hadn't heard your truck start, you would've left without me."
"That was the plan," Jeff said. "We don't need you. We don't even have food for you."
"I brought a little food."
"You bring camping equipment?"
"Just a sleeping bag. Why do you expect me to bring stuff? Bet Nick didn't."
"Shut your fuckin' mouth." Jeff spurred his horse forward past Nick and joined Brett at the front.
Only the creak of the saddles and the hoof beats of the horses disturbed the silence for some time. The clear, fresh air. The peaceful, beautiful scenery. The leaves dancing in the wind. How can evil exist in such a splendid environment? Nick wondered.
"I could've stayed back and organized the rescue," Chuck said.
"Why didn't you?" Nick said.
"Catching the killer is more important."
"I suppose it'll make you look more important."
"I'm not out here to look important."
"Maybe you're making amends for shooting Darren."
"I don't have anything to apologize for."
"Chuck, I think it'd be wise of you to keep your mouth shut. You irritate everyone." Nick nudged Vanilla forward to leave Chuck behind.
Sun peeked through the low clouds, and the wind, which once rustled the yellowing aspens, faded to a slight breeze. Brett halted the caravan at a shallow stream babbling over rocks. He dismounted and led his horse to the water.
"Mid-morning break."
Glad to get his feet on the ground, Nick stretched before leading Vanilla to the stream.
"I want to explain where we're going." Brett knelt. He drew an X with a small stick. "This is Wade's place. This . . ." He drew a circle. ". . .is Jones Peak. Wade went this way." He traced a line to the left of the peak. "He probably broke camp this morning in a meadow right here." He indicated the area with a triangle.
"We're going the wrong direction," Chuck said.
"Today he'll keep south around a ridge here and camp about here." He etched another triangle. "The next day he'll be in Rosburg Valley." He drew a good-sized oblong.
"That's where we meet him," Nick said.
"Right." Brett drew another line. "We're going to the right of Jones Peak. There's a low pass and a trail that parallels a stream down. Kinda hairy in places." Brett glanced at his audience. "Once we're through, we'll camp." He etched another triangle.
"That looks close to the valley," Jeff said.
Brett nodded. "Maybe five miles. Along the valley here .. .” He traced another line. “. . . a ridge. We sit on the ridge and wait for Wade."
"Then do what
?" Chuck said.
Brett shrugged. "We'll see what happens. About noon, we'll be at the pass. Uphill for the next three hours."
The trail, distinguishable only by an indentation in the rocky soil, wound back and forth, leaving the trees behind. Nick found having four horses on the trail above him unnerving. Time passed slowly and conversation lagged. As they crossed the meager stream several times, it grew smaller and became merely a trickle. When Brett next brought them to a halt, Nick looked at a panoramic view which spread out behind them. The trees that shaded them for the first few hours of their ride appeared miniature.
"We've come up quite a ways," Nick said.
"We're almost to the pass." Brett handed a sandwich to Nick along with a bag of chips.
Jeff sprawled on the ground and inspected his sandwich. "Ladies must be giving us leftovers. Think I recognize this roast beef from the other night."
"Makes a good sandwich," Nick said.
Chuck dug his hand into a bag of trail mix. "Not as healthy as this."
"You call that squirrel food healthy? Hasn't done much for your figure." Jeff patted his flat stomach.
"You keep drinking that beer every night, you'll have a paunch bigger than mine."
"Not me. My old man drinks every night. Never did get a damned gut on him. It's a matter of genetics."
Chuck turned to Nick. "What do you think?"
"Genes matter,” Nick said, “but you inherited half of your genes from your mother and what you consume counts, too. You can't depend on keeping those hard abs."
"See." Chuck pointed his finger at Jeff.
"But exercise helps, don't it, Doc?"
"Sure.”
"Bet you don't exercise like I do." Jeff stuffed chips into his mouth.
"Shannon's the one for exercise," Brett said.
"Yeah,” Chuck said. "Runs her ass all over the place."
"Got her a nice hard ass, does she?" Jeff raised an eyebrow at Brett. "Probably feels damned good to grab that."
Brett smiled. "Sure does." He stood. "Finish up. Let's get a move on."
The trail wove through several areas with rising terrain on each side. It rose, fell and twisted, confusing Nick as to when they reached the true pass. Then a vista opened in front of him and he realized the pass was behind. Brett pulled up and dismounted. Nick was relieved to join him on the ground. The horses seemed anxious to continue.
"Probably smell water," Brett said. "We'll come to a stream soon. Wade and I come this way almost every fall. Good hunting in Rosburg Valley."
"Hope we have good hunting there," Jeff said.
"We'll have some steep areas in the next segment." Brett checked the packs on one of the horses. "Some of them so steep I walk them."
"Why's that?" Chuck said. "Too scary for you?"
"Easier on the horse," Brett said as he lengthened the lead on the packhorse. "Wade takes good care of his horses and so do I."
Nick tipped up his water bottle and drank. "I sure don't mind walking for a bit."
"And space out." Brett checked the other packhorse. "That's why I'm lengthening these leads. Let the person ahead of you get down the slope and out of the way before you begin your descent. With all the rain, the slopes will be slippery. Go slow and be careful."
Brett mounted and began the trek downward. Jeff waited a bit and then followed. Nick reluctantly got back into the saddle and nudged Vanilla into a walk. The trail's gentle slope steepened as they descended until Brett dismounted and led Cruz and the packhorse down a rugged area through a gap. Jeff soon followed and Nick moved to observe. He dismounted and turned to find Chuck directly behind him.
"Remember to stay back until I get down," Nick said. He led Vanilla into the gap. The horse lowered its head and followed obediently. Nick glanced back to discover Chuck directly behind him, but they navigated the slope without incident to find Brett and Jeff mounted and waiting for them. Brett turned his horse and led downward.
Nick swung back into the saddle. "You're in such a hurry, Chuck, maybe you'd like to trade places."
"Fine with me." Chuck kicked his horse and squeezed past Vanilla. "I'm tired of looking at that horse's ass anyway."
When they next came to a precipitous grade, Chuck followed Jeff's packhorse too closely, slipped and narrowly avoided the horse's hooves. Concentrating on leading his horse and the packhorse, Jeff didn't notice the close encounter, but, after his initial alarm, Nick got a laugh out of Chuck's mishap. Chuck kept a safe distance back when they next encountered a steep area. The terrain flattened as they reached the stream, dismounted and stretched while the horses drank.
"We'll follow the stream from here," Brett said.
"Any more steep places?" Nick said.
"Nothing we'll have to walk through." Brett scratched his chin. "Got to watch for rock slides, though. Just a couple more miles and then we camp."
The trail along the side of the stream hugged the mountain on the left and dropped about ten feet on the right down to the water. The tough part of the ride behind him, Nick relaxed and enjoyed the scenery as now trees appeared along the stream's far bank. A shower of small pebbles spooked Vanilla who sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the drop into the stream. Nick looked up the muddy slope. A large rock slid a few feet downhill. That’s not good. He kicked Vanilla into a faster walk. Ahead of him, Chuck glanced to his left then craned his neck to check the mountain. Another shower made Vanilla dance, lifting her hooves high as to avoid the earth. Nick’s stomach turned over, his grip on the reins tightened, and he squeezed the horse between his knees.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Wade woke in darkness Tuesday morning. His shoulders ached from the unnatural position in which he'd been forced to sleep and his bladder cried to be emptied. He thrashed, trying to restore blood flow to his limbs.
"Carl!" He got no response. "Hey, Carl." He heard the man stir. "Carl. Time to get up."
"It's still dark," Carl mumbled.
"You've got the lantern. About six, I'd say." Wade heard more fumbling and finally the lantern came on. "We've got things to do. Ought to be on the trail by eight. Unzip my bag."
Carl grunted, got to his knees and swayed. He rubbed his eyes and stared at Wade blankly for a few seconds before he leaned over and unzipped the sleeping bag.
Wade noticed a rusty stain on Carl's sleeve. "Now untie me."
Carl swung the lantern's light over his own sleeping bag and located his gun. He stuck it in his waistband and clumsily moved to Wade's back where he picked at the nylon rope. "Can't seem to get this knot," Carl mumbled.
"Well, cut it then. You've got my knife."
Wade couldn't see what Carl was doing, but he soon experienced a sawing motion and the rope binding his hands loosened. "I can do the rest." He sat up, quickly freed his feet and looked up into the muzzle of Carl's gun. "For Christ's sake. You are the jumpiest guy I've ever seen." He crawled toward the tent's flap and unzipped it. "I gotta go to the john."
Outside, the faint glow of dawn rimmed the butte to the east. Dew covered the grass and the chill of morning raised goose bumps. Carl rose from the tent, swayed on his feet and wobbled off toward the stream. Wade took the food duffel from the tent, placed the coffeepot onto the fire grate, added water and coffee grounds, and searched for the cups. Inside one, he found a packet labeled sugar but lumpy under his fingers. He shook out a dozen sleeping pills into his palm, quickly put them back and stuffed the packet into his jeans pocket. Nora used this medication to control her insomnia. What a wonderful gal. She deserves to get whatever she wants.
Carl returned. "Where's that poncho?"
Wade opened the clothes duffel and handed the poncho to Carl. "It's a cool morning." He searched the killer's face. The brow and cheeks looked flushed. He considered the implications. The coffee ready, Wade filled two cups. "Have a seat. Coffee's ready."
Carl took the cup and carefully lowered himself onto the campstool. "Sugar?"
Wade shook his head. "Sorry." He placed the skillet onto th
e grate. "I'll make breakfast. You roll up the sleeping bags."
Wade considered how to use the sleeping pills. Can’t just hand them to the man, he knew. Can’t put them in the coffee. I’m drinking it, too. Wonder how they taste. Bitter, maybe? Dissolve them in water, the taste might give them away, make the man spit the water out. How to conceal the taste. He rummaged through the food duffel and found Nora had packed cayenne. What a clever gal I married. He hummed a tune as he helped Carl take down the tent.
Breakfast over, Wade whistled for the horses and prepared the packs. "Think you can load them?"
Carl nodded. Wade saddled Roman and Tipsy, checked the packhorses and leveled the earth where the fire pit had been. He filled two canteens with water and hung them over the two saddle horns. Wade leading, they followed the stream through the valley and began the climb over the adjacent ridge to the south when the stream swung to the east. Wade caught glimpses of Carl only when the trail twisted. The killer, hunched in the poncho, rode with the reins in one hand and the other clutching the saddle horn. Wade wondered about the gun. Having a demented, armed murderer at his back made his shoulders ache. By mid-morning, they topped the ridge and Wade pulled to a stop and dismounted. He opened his Skoal can and popped some tobacco into his cheek.
Carl dismounted slowly. "Why didn't we stay with the stream?"
"It goes east. Drops." Wade spit. "Even has a waterfall at the rift. Can't get down it."
Carl wiped his forehead with the poncho. "You got any Tylenol?"
Wade chuckled. "Surprised you waited this long." He dug into his saddlebag. "Ain't got Tylenol. Aleve for my arthritis." He handed the bottle to Carl.
Carl washed down two pills with water from his canteen. "Still headed south?"
"Until we skirt Jones Peak." Wade spit. "Then we'll angle to the west."
"You said three days." Carl replaced the canteen and leaned heavily against his horse.
"Tomorrow late we should hit the main highway up to Estes. Don't know what shape it's in."
Carl fumbled under his poncho and produced the gun. "What do you mean by that?"
Wade spit. "The highway follows the Big Butte River. If it flooded, well . . ." He shrugged.
