Rocky Mountain Fugitive

by Ann Voss Peterson

  She inched down the cliff, forcing herself to keep her eyes down, on the rock under her feet and the cliff below, and not on the ridge above. She leaned back, but not too far. She had to hurry, but not too much. Finally she could see the rock flatten into a narrow ledge.

  “You got it,” Eric’s voice sounded from behind her.

  One of the most welcome sounds she’d ever heard. She let the rope slide through her hands. Her feet rested on horizontal rock.

  His hands steadied her hips. “Don’t step back. Stay right where you are.”

  For a moment, she was content not to move. She just stood there, soaking in the solid feel of his touch. The smell of decay and tension and relief made her stomach swirl. She looked up at the cliff she’d just descended, half expecting to see men peering down at them, gun barrels leveled at their heads, although she knew they weren’t that close. “They’re on their way. I spotted them on the point, just where you said to look.”

  “We have a problem.”

  She turned around on the narrow ledge. He was standing waist-deep in a crevasse, just as it had seemed from above. And beside him, the body they’d spotted from above wedged a few feet deeper. She suppressed a shudder.

  “My boot is jammed.”

  She looked down, following his leg to where it was swallowed by shadow cast by the narrowing slash in the rock. “Can you get it off?”

  “I can’t bend down to get it unlaced. The crevasse is too tight. I need your help.” He pulled a knife from his belt and handed it to her. Blade tucked neatly into handle, the knife still looked brutal, the blade big enough to hack down a small tree. The olive drab handle looked military-serious. “The laces. Can you reach them? Cut them with this?”

  “Not unless I stand on my head.”

  “Okay, then.”

  She eyed the crevasse, the body lodged beside Eric. The thought of diving headfirst into that confining space made sweat bloom damp on her skin. “I wasn’t serious.”

  “I was. I’m not going to get out of here any other way.”

  She wiped her palms on her jeans and took the knife. “I hope I don’t get sick.”

  His eyebrows turned down.

  “Don’t worry about it. I can do it. Just wanted to warn you.”

  “You sure?”

  “Believe me, I’m used to it. I’m sure it will bother you more than it bothers me.” She turned to face him on the ledge. He was so close to her. “As long as you can pull me back up.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t have to. She knew he could. Eric was one of the strongest men she’d ever known. Rock climbing honed some brutal muscle tissue.

  “You might want to breathe through your mouth.”

  Sarah tried not to look at the body. She scooped in a deep breath through tight lips. Leaning forward, she lowered her head in an awkward half headstand, half squat.

  Eric’s hands closed around her waist and he lifted her into the air. She stretched her arms out in front of her, the knife clutched in one fist.

  He lowered her into the crevasse, her body sliding down his. Darkness closed around her. The odor of decay wrapped around her like a wet fog. She kept her eyes on Eric’s boot, trying not to think too much about the skull just inches away.

  The opening narrowed. Her face grew hot, blood rushing to her head. The weight of her stomach pressed into her throat. The urge to break out of here, scramble for light, for air, clawed inside her.

  She had to hurry.

  Locating a lace with one hand, she slipped the blade under and drew it upward. She jiggled the knife until the lace gave. She cut another, then clawed the rest loose with her fingers and pulled at the boot’s tongue. She folded the knife and tapped Eric’s leg.

  He started to lift her upward. She hadn’t yet emerged from the crevasse when she heard the first crack of gunfire reverberate off stone.

  Chapter Eight

  Nothing could get adrenaline pumping like a bullet screaming past a person’s head.

  Eric’s arms shook as he lifted Sarah out of the crevasse. She wasn’t that heavy. Not heavy at all, really. But slam after slam of adrenaline over the past hours was taking its toll.

  His heart hammered against his ribs. This couldn’t be happening again. Images flashed through his mind. The sick jolt of Randy’s body. The animal look in his eyes. They way he slumped off the ridge and hung limp in his harness.

  Think. He had to get Sarah out of here. He’d failed Randy. He wouldn’t fail her.

  Sarah and his child.

  Setting her on the edge, he yanked his foot free from the boot and hefted himself up beside her.

  Crack. A plume of dust exploded from rock.

  A choked sound came from Sarah’s throat.

  Grabbing her hand, he flattened himself against the base of the cliff. She did the same. At this angle, even a few feet made a difference. Rock and the occasional straggly sage obscured them from above. It would be tough for the men on the ridge to pull off an accurate shot at this angle. Until they decided to rappel down the rock face as he and Sarah had. Or circle around the gentler slope to the other side of the ridge.

  Or split up and try both.

  Eric swallowed into a dust-dry throat. That’s what he would do, if he were the hunter instead of the prey. It was the logical move. Come at them from both sides. Get into position before making his presence known.

  Sarah pulled his hand, leading him back around the ridge the way they’d come. “Hurry. If they’re up there, maybe we can reach the ATV before—”

  “They’ll be coming from both directions. We’ll run right into them.”

  She stared at him a moment, processing his words or deciding whether or not to trust him, he wasn’t sure. “So where do we go?” She searched his eyes, waiting for his answer.

  Eric scanned the mountains that rose all around them. To someone who hadn’t spent the hours in these mountains that he had, the formations of rock, slopes of pine and peaks dusted with snow looked interchangeable. All beautiful, but one much like the other. For him, each mountain’s shape and features felt as distinctive as human faces. And these particular faces were all well loved.

  “That way.” He pointed to the other side of the crevasse. The slope stretched bare and open for fifty yards then plunged into a stand of lodgepole pine.

  But first, he needed to make things a little tougher for their pursuers and easier for themselves.

  He grabbed the rope and gave it a good pull. It slid through the carabiner above and pooled at the base of the cliff. He coiled it as quickly as his hands would move. Taking the rope was time-consuming, he knew. But with the route he was planning to take, two ropes would be important. Hell, they’d be the difference between one of them making it or both.

  Slipping the coil over his shoulder, he grabbed Sarah’s hand once more. He nodded to the open landscape in front of them and the stand of lodgepole pine beyond. “We’ll need to cross this stretch quickly. Once we get into cover, we’ll be in good shape. But until then…we need to move fast. Keep down and stay with me. You think you’re up to it?”

  Holding her hand to her belly, she set her jaw and nodded. “Just tell me what to do.” Her voice trembled, but there was a determination underneath it, a confidence in him he thought he’d never hear from her again. And despite the fact that he had little idea how he was going to get them out of this mess, her confidence that he’d find a way made him want to believe it, too. “On three, run.”

  “ONE.”

  Sarah gripped Eric’s hand for all she was worth. She couldn’t let herself think about what they were about to do. She just had to feel, trust.

  “Two.”

  She mimicked Eric’s posture, knees bent, muscles coiled like springs. Time stretched forever, slow and painful. Finally he opened his lips a third time.

  “Three.”

  They sprang over the crevasse and into the open, racing for the stand of pine. Her boots skidded on rock and tripped over prickly pear, but she kept her legs u
nder her, kept them moving, kept hold of Eric’s hand.

  A crack echoed off stone. Another.

  They plunged into the forest’s edge. From the ridge the trees had appeared closer together. Dense. Now she could see how sparse the forest really was. Some pines ravaged by past fires were bare as matchsticks thrust into the sky. Others had needles, but were too young to provide cover.

  They kept moving. Sarah’s breath panted raw in her throat. She tried to make herself breathe deeply, sucking in all the oxygen she could with each breath, but still her lungs craved more.

  Eric picked and dodged around rocks and through brush. Finally the forest grew darker, the understory more sparse until only a bed of dead needles cushioned the rocky soil beneath their feet.

  Instead of stopping, Eric ran on. No longer a mad dash, but a steady jog. Sarah gamely kept up. The gunshots coming from the top of the ridge echoed in her ears. They were too close. Too real. Those moments before Eric had led her to shelter had scared her as she’d never been scared before, and every cell in her body seemed to still be shaking from it.

  Her breathing settled into a steady rhythm. In and out. In and out. Blood hummed through her arms and legs. Hair stuck to her face and neck, sweat slicking her skin.

  They ran on, through forest then open space. They hiked over ridges and rappeled down steep slopes. By the time Sarah made it down the cliff near the waterfall, she was starting to feel like a pro. Either that or she was just so exhausted she was becoming delusional.

  Her side stung with each breath as if a knife had been jabbed between her ribs. She swallowed into a dust-dry throat. “I have to stop. Just for a second.”

  Eric paused as if listening for the sound of pursuit. Finally he nodded and led her to the side of the stream. He handed her one of the water bottles Layton had provided and slugged back the other himself. Once they were empty, he refilled them from the stream, slipped them back into the pack and propped a hip on the slope of a felled log.

  Even though the sharp pain in her lungs had lessened, Sarah’s whole body still ached, and she knew if she sat for long each of those overtaxed muscles would stiffen, making things worse.

  But a few minutes would be nice.

  The sound of water washing over stone lulled her like the mellow tones of New Age music. She breathed in the fresh tang of pine and plopped her elbows on her knees. “Did you find anything? You know, on the body?” They had been in such a hurry to escape the gunfire, she hadn’t had a chance to ask until now.

  “You mean like something on him that would carry stolen money or drugs? No.”

  She leaned forehead to hands. She’d hung everything on the hope they’d find something on the ridge. Something to explain why Randy was killed. Something to help them get out of this mess. “Then the hike up to Saddle Horn Ridge…it was all for nothing?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “We almost got killed, and we know nothing more now than we did before we climbed to the ridge.”

  He scanned the rough landscape around them, always on guard. “We know several things.”

  “Like what?” At the moment, she couldn’t think of one.

  “We know there’s a body.”

  Yes, they knew that, all right. The rotting flesh, the sickening smell…she suppressed a shiver. “So? If he didn’t have anything Randy could have thought was valuable enough to pay back his debt, we have no proof he’s part of this at all. He might just be a hiker who fell.”

  “He was no hiker.”

  “How do you know?”

  “First, he was wearing the wrong boots.” He glanced down at the cowboy boots on her feet. “You know from experience that wouldn’t be the first choice for a hike.”

  She couldn’t disagree. She studied the confident line of his mouth. “I get the feeling there’s more?”

  “He was murdered.”

  The word sent a jolt of energy through her she didn’t know she still possessed. “How do you know?”

  “There was a bullet hole in the back of his skull. And…” He hefted the backpack up on the log beside him, unzipped it and pulled something out. He handed her a silver belt buckle.

  “This is from the body?” She held it by the edges, balancing it between two fingers, not sure she wanted to touch it.

  He pointed to the lettering surrounding the bucking horse. Cody Nite Rodeo. “We learn the name of the bareback champion in 1978, we identify our murder victim.”

  She turned the buckle over in her fingers. Maybe things weren’t so hopeless. Maybe they could still find a way out. Thanks to Eric. “And from there, we find out why he was killed.”

  Eric nodded. “And who killed him.”

  “You’re thinking the sheriff did it?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “At the very least, he’s trying to cover it up.”

  “So this whole thing…it’s not about stolen money or drugs at all?”

  “Maybe not.” He gestured to the buckle in her hands. “Is there a list of the cowboys who’ve won awards like this? Something that goes back to 1978?”

  “Pro rodeo results are listed on the PRCA Web site. But this is a year-end award for the Cody Nite Rodeo. I doubt there’s a list online. Especially one that goes back to 1978.” She searched her memory. She wasn’t certain, but…

  “What is it?”

  “Back when I was barrel racing and Randy had just started riding bulls, I remember one place had the champions listed on the back of the grandstand. Like an honor role of sorts. I always dreamed of my name being up there someday.”

  “You think it was Cody?”

  “I don’t know, but Layton used to take Randy and me to the Cody rodeo pretty often.”

  “Then let’s go to Cody.”

  “How? Walk? That should only take…forever.”

  “If we had to travel by road the whole way, that might be true. But as the crow flies…we aren’t as far from Cody as you think.”

  Sarah scanned the topography. She’d gotten so turned around on their hike up to Saddle Horn Ridge and even more confused in their escape. “Where are we, exactly?”

  He pointed to a narrow pass between two peaks. “Cody is that way, maybe thirty miles.”

  She looked down at his stocking foot. The bottom of his thick sock had worn away in spots, and the rusty color of dried blood colored the tattered edges. “Still a long way to walk.”

  “I’m betting we can find a ride.” One corner of his mouth turned up.

  She wanted to return the smile. Eric seemed as if he had thought the whole thing through, as if he had it all figured out. But while it felt good to have him with her, to be able to rely on him, to not have to handle everything herself, she knew things weren’t so simple and clear-cut. And for all Eric’s crooked smiles and confidence, she had the feeling he sensed that, too.

  Chapter Nine

  Although the brief stop for rest and water had helped, by the time they’d descended into the foothills, Sarah’s bones ached with a fatigue from which she couldn’t imagine recovering. Of course, Eric had it worse, traveling with only one boot. He hadn’t said a word on the long hike down the mountain, but she’d been aware of his limp, which was growing more pronounced by the hour.

  If they were where Eric said, they should find ranches and green hay fields flanking the river ahead. Civilization compared to the land they’d just crossed. Maybe there they could find the ride Eric had so cockily promised.

  She sure hoped so, because she didn’t know how he was going to manage to walk much farther.

  The first ranch they came to seemed locked up tight. No sign of life stirred in the house. The small barn, corral and fields were vacant, and the garage didn’t have so much as a bicycle inside. “Must be a summer place,” Eric said.

  Sarah nodded. The beginning of June was summer in most places, but not necessarily here in the mountains. And even though the countryside was enjoying a nice growth spurt before the July sun dried the landscape to a dull brown, summer vaca
tion and tourist season didn’t really get cooking in this area until nearby Yellowstone opened its gates in a few weeks.

  They moved on to the next ranch. Instead of hay fields, cattle dotted the valley. “Now we’re talking,” Eric said. “They must have some kind of vehicle.”

  “You’re thinking of stealing a car?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you know how to do that?”

  “I’m hoping I can figure it out.”

  She hoped so, too. And that the ranch didn’t have dogs keeping watch. And that the rancher didn’t have a gun. It seemed they were hanging a lot on hope. “There has to be a better way.”

  “You come up with one, I’m all ears.”

  They circled the house and crouched behind a clump of big sage. From this angle, they had a clear view of the barn and other outbuildings. And in the middle of the gravel drive, a truck idled, hitched to a four-horse stock style trailer.

  “I told you we’d find a ride. He even left the keys in and the engine running.”

  Movement stirred in the barn’s open doorway.

  “Wait.” Sarah grabbed Eric’s arm as if to stop him, even though he hadn’t moved.

  A dog trotted out, tail held high. Behind him, a man emerged leading a saddled horse. Lead rope loose in his hand, he stepped up into the trailer. The horse followed, horseshoes thunking on steel, as willing as if he was walking into his stall in the barn.

  After a moment, the man jumped down from the back of the trailer. He closed the back gate and headed for the house, dog on his heels.

  Clean Wranglers. Bright, striped button-down shirt. Perfectly shaped hat and a nice pair of boots. No cowboy dressed that well for day-to-day work. And although the saddle on the horse’s back was no silver-encrusted monstrosity you sometimes saw in pleasure horse shows, it was as clean and spruced up as the man who would sit in it.

  She glanced at the sun, hovering over the mountains, poised to take a plunge. “You wanted to go to Cody? To the rodeo grounds?”