by Allison Shaw
Only one of Callie’s ‘security detail’ was a true dog and that was Brutus. The huge dog was from an old line of American Leopard Curs that some of her settler ancestors had brought with them over the mountains in the early eighteenth century. He had a blue merle coat with rust-colored trim over the eyes, muzzle, and legs. He was an extraordinary hunting dog and fiercely protective of his territory and people. Brutus would stay by Callie’s side until they returned home.
Nightside, Snake, Smoke, and Raze were mostly Timber Wolf with some Malamute or Husky mixed in. Callie had worked with them to teach them how to be wolves and had been largely successful, but they considered her their alpha and chose to pack with her. They would stay out of sight of the hunters but would come to Callie’s aid if she were attacked. Wolves run silently and whatever fool tried to put his hands on their alpha wouldn’t know what was coming until their fangs were tearing at his flesh.
Callie was to guide a group of six this trip- one Spaniard, one German, two Americans, and two Scots. Europeans didn’t like to be grouped with Americans and Darlene made every effort to schedule accordingly, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. The Europeans tended to treat their hosts with more respect than did American clients, partly because they admired Native Americans much more than most Americans did, and partly because they had better manners.
But they could be just as obnoxious as Americans when it came to keeping their hands to themselves when up in the woods with a woman, and particularly a young, petite one like Callie. Jim, a former Army Ranger, had taught his children hand-to-hand combat skills including how to incapacitate or severely disable an opponent.
Or kill him if need be. Callie could throw a knife, axe, or hatchet with dead-on accuracy, and was a highly-skilled marksman. Nothing about her was weak or delicate and in matters of survival her response was instantaneous and ruthless. Usually a well-placed blow to a particular part of the male anatomy was enough to get the point across but on occasion she’d had to resort to damaging other parts as well.
She hadn’t killed anyone yet, but she’d meted out some fractures and severe contusions in the few seconds it took for Brutus and the wolves to come to her aid. Fortunately, Brutus’ presence alone was enough to deter most men from acting upon any testosterone-induced idiocy.
Offenders were escorted out of the woods posthaste and did not receive a refund.
Period.
Nobody had ever sued over it, either. Jim Awiakta was a shrewd businessman who knew how to draw up contracts like a corporate legal shark. He had included a morals clause in the basic contract right along with a waiver requirement for accident, injury, or death- especially if the client’s own actions precipitated it. Cover your ass with both hands and Kevlar drawers was one of his favorite axioms.
It was a fine fall day on Powell Mountain. She could see Newman Ridge southward across Snake Hollow and an occasional glint from Blackwater Creek as it ran the northeastward course. The sky was a crisp blue and the air sweet and cool with just the slightest tang of wood smoke. Her family lived in one of the more remote parts of the county despite Big Sycamore Creek Road which traversed the length of Snake Hollow from the southern-most end of Powell Mountain to State Route 70 up in Virginia. Sneedville lay in a valley to the south of Newman Ridge but to Callie it existed only when she gave it any thought.
The first frost had already fallen and the nights were quite chilly. Leaves were falling heavily, carpeting the forest floor with red and russet and gold accents while those still on the trees rustled their songs in the breeze. The deep green of pines and cedar trees stood in stark contrast to the half-bare deciduous trees. As Callie and her children chatted, blue jays called, squirrels barked, a hawk whistled high overhead, and an elk bugled in the distance.
The elk and deer were in full rut now, with the males battling for territory and harems and the females picking out the time, place, and male of their choice for breeding. Of course, the predators knew that while the adults were so preoccupied with the getting of next year’s offspring that this year’s fawns were a bit more vulnerable to predation. This also made the cougars and bears a bit more vulnerable too, since they could be more easily found by hunters.
Guests paid well for the chance to get a bison, elk, or bear and even more so for the very few tags allowed for an adult mountain lion. Tags for deer were far less expensive, and for hogs only a hunting license was required. Feral hogs were considered invasive pests and destructive to the environment.
The local ones were huge, often weighing nearly one thousand pounds and reaching eight to nine feet in length. Dubbed “hogzillas” after a huge hog shot in southern Georgia, they were extremely dangerous even for the most experienced hunter. It took a .308 or higher caliber rifle to kill one and usually more than one shot was required to do the job.
Hunting hogs was Jonas’ specialty. His pack of Black Mouth Curs was well-trained to bring a hog to bay while staying clear of its tusks and he knew how to bring one down. Still, he admitted it scared the piss out of him every time he looked a hog in its mean, beady eyes. They were the most unpredictable and dangerous animals in the forest, far more so than even bear or lion. Too many things could go wrong when hunting or cornering them, and if folks had the misfortune to stumble across a herd of sows with their pigs they’d be lucky to escape with their lives.
Callie could see the smoke from the lodge rising up about a half-mile away. She wondered briefly about the men she’d be escorting this day but didn’t involve herself in speculation. Beyond the fact that they were clients whose money provided her family with a decent living, their lives were their own business and not hers. Most of the time she figured out all she needed to know after a few minutes of dealing with them and had no desire to know any more.
When she was within fifty yards of the clearing around the lodge, Callie ordered the wolves to stay put. Experienced at this routine, the four sat down to wait as Brutus followed Callie to the lodge. When the guests were mounted and the pack-string under way, they would shadow them, staying close by but out of sight.
Callie emerged from the woods and came up to the lodge. A string of four mules were being loaded with the guests’ gear by her brother Caleb and cousin Mike Dalton. Six horses stood saddled up and ready for the guests to ride.
She lowered Red Wolf and Mountain Rose to the ground before dismounting. Dropping Chick’s reins over the long hitching rail, she gave the mare a treat before going over the rest of the stock. She spoke to each horse or mule in turn, petting and giving each a treat from her pocket. The twins followed along, copying their mother as they greeted and petted the horses and mules, calling each by name.
Nancy Jo, her Uncle Dave’s wife, opened up the side door and stepped out to get a breath of fresh air. Wiping her hands on her apron, she smiled and greeted Callie. “I see you brought your young’uns. Your mama’s in the office. Have these kids et yet?” When Callie said they had, Nancy Jo nodded and then continued speaking with hardly a pause. “Looks like you got a real nice bunch of gentlemen this time around!” she said. “Couple of real handsome young fellers, too!”
Callie avoided rolling her eyes. Aunt Nancy Jo was always trying to set her up with this man or that one, assuming that Callie must be absolutely miserable without a man in her life. Perky blonde cheerleader-types had always made her sick, even when they were kinfolk or kin-by-marriage. Callie laid on a Hollywood-style Southern accent as she replied drily, “Do tell! How will I evah manage to do mah job while swooning over such delightful company?”
Nancy Jo frowned. “Callie Michelle Hawken! That kind of sarcasm is why you’re still single at your age!”
“I’m twenty-four, Aunt Nancy Jo,” Callie said. “That’s hardly old.”
“And that disposition of yours could use some improvement. No man wants a woman who’s mean as a snake,” Aunt Nancy Jo chided.
“Well, if you want the milk, the horns come with the heifer,” Callie shot back. “If a man can’t accept me as I
am then the hell with him!”
Nancy Jo gave Callie a sour look. The girl was darned near hopeless when it came to getting a man. Too ornery. Too mouthy. Too smart. The ones she didn’t scare off with her backwoods Indian attitude she ran off by talking about subjects ten miles over their heads. She couldn’t even flirt, for pity’s sake! Her plain brown hair was pulled back in that same old long braid. No make-up, not even a bit of lip gloss. And just look at the way she was dressed - faded blue jeans, a worn flannel shirt with an old blue-gray corduroy shirt over it, a pair of old hiking boots, and that beat-up old gray felt broad-brimmed hat. There was nothing there to attract a quality man, especially one of means. Maybe if she’d get her hair cut and styled, put some blonde highlights in it, and….
Nancy Jo went through her mental catalogue of things Callie could do to improve herself. Wouldn’t do any good to tell the girl any of it, though. Might as well try to talk sense into a stone.
Jim came out of the front door of the lodge, followed by their clients. Callie eyed them each in turn, gauging them. The first man she figured to be the Spaniard from his dark hair and eyes and olive complexion. Average height, fit frame, arrogant set to his mouth and eyes. Late thirties or early forties.
The next man, the German, had graying brown hair and hazel eyes, ruddy complexion, tall and basically fit if a bit thick about the waist. Probably in his early fifties. He and the Spaniard had corporate executive/hereditary aristocracy written all over them. Men used to power and prestige and all of the perks thereof. Such men were not used to taking orders from those they considered underlings and would probably be a pain in the ass, and the Spaniard more so than the German.
American Number One had brown hair, ice-blue eyes, and a jaded countenance. He eyed Callie and her children dismissively, giving her the impression that the three of them together didn’t add up to the little toe on a piss-ant in his estimation.
She didn’t think a whole hell of a lot of him, either.
American Number Two had blond hair and brown eyes, sun-tanned skin, a tall muscular build, and sharply chiseled features that were beginning to show middle age. He looked like a rich playboy who probably had a surgically-enhanced trophy wife waiting at home for him.
The twins ran to their grandfather. Jim laughed, swinging them up and hugging them before setting them down and turning to Callie. He smiled and hugged her as he asked, “How’s it going, Baby Doll?”
“Fine, Dad,” Callie replied. “Our guests?”
“Yes ma’am!” Jim said as he began introductions. Senor Rigoberto Arias y Sandoval of Cordova, Spain. Herr Pieter Richthoffer of Essen, Germany. Mike Voorhees of Martha’s Vineyard. Cal McConnell of Galveston, Texas.
Callie greeted each man politely with a level eye, steady voice, and firm handshake. The contest of wills was already on just like so many times before. Callie was barely five feet tall and aware that these men were looking down on her literally and figuratively, probably thinking there wasn’t much to her and they could just run right over her.
Boy, were they in for a shock.
While the first round of introductions were going on, two more men came up behind to join the group. Callie saw them peripherally, but focused on the men she was being introduced to out of politeness as well as to assess them more intently. To be forewarned was to be well armed as the old saying went and she wanted to be able to anticipate the problems that might arise.
Just as Jim began to introduce Scotsman Number One, the man stuck out a bear-paw of a hand and said, “John MacQueen, miss. Pleased tae meet ye!”
Callie took his hand, noticing the firm yet gentle grip. He was very tall, probably six-seven, and broad enough across the shoulders to make two of the other clients. His wavy blond hair was pulled back in a braid and his rough-hewn face sported a neatly clipped horseshoe moustache with a small patch of beard on his chin. There was a genuinely friendly look in his blue eyes and he seemed very familiar for some reason.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” she returned. “Welcome to our mountains.”
Callie turned to greet Scotsman Number Two and the universe came to a screeching halt. She heard Jim’s voice out there somewhere but it was drowned out by the thundering of her own heart. Her mouth went dry and the air went out of her lungs as she looked into a pair of intimately familiar eyes and her nostrils caught a scent that had haunted her dreams.
It couldn’t be.
Chapter 3:
Deliverance Or Dances With Wolves
It was.
Euan Wallace. The father of her children. The first and only man she had ever loved or made love with.
The bastard who had broken her heart and insulted her honor.
Her mind reeled and her heart skittered, and she was afraid that she was about to stumble and fall. Why was he here? Did he know?
Her eyes flew to his companion, John MacQueen. Of course. Big John. She should have recognized Euan’s bosom buddy. How the hell many men stood that tall or broad? His hair was longer than it had been four years back and he had shaved off that wooly beard, but it was him alright. Euan’s self-appointed body guard. If Euan needed muscle, John would more than fill the bill.
In an instant a cold fear gripped her. Euan’s family was extremely wealthy and if he was here to take the children there would be little she could do to stop him. That kind of money could buy off county officials easily.
Time seemed to stand still, holding Callie in a warp. It was real but unreal, her head felt light but her legs had turned to lead. She couldn’t think and yet her thoughts were flying through her head at light speed.
She stared at this man, this intimate stranger. She knew this face with its Celtic features - slanted cheekbones and eyes, long nose, sensuous mouth - looking like some elven lord of old. She knew this body, every inch of the tall, perfectly masculine frame. She knew this musky, earthy, male scent. Knew how it felt to be in his arms with him inside her, and longing began pooling warmly between her legs.
But she didn’t know him, not anymore, and probably never really had.
Then why was her body responding to him like it used to? As if the past four years since his betrayal of her had never happened? Oh dear God, was she still such a fool for him?
Memories flooded her mind. The day they had met. The dance he had taken her to that first night and others over that summer. The evenings at the local pub talking, laughing, playing darts, singing. That deep, rumbling laughter of his and how easily she could evoke it with her jokes and funny stories. Working side-by-side on his croft. Hiking in the Grampians. The first dinner she had fixed for him in his small cottage. The rainy day they had started out playing chess and ended up making love for the first time and she had given him her virginity.
She remembered the feel of her hand in his, his arm around her shoulders. His arms around her. Their first kiss and all that followed. The way his deep voice tickled her ears and thrilled her whole being. Falling in love. All of the passion and desire that had run through her like molten fire, passion he had awakened and stoked until it had consumed her. How she had lived and breathed him for three months.
And how he had crushed her heart under his heel with a few words. How it had taken every ounce of self-control she’d had not to burst into tears in front of him. How she had fought the leaden weight on her soul to get her things together and go home when her heart had cried out for her to stay and hope for him to come around to the fact that they were going to have a baby. Going against her family by refusing to tell them anything about him. Going through pregnancy and childbirth alone. Holding herself together through the weeks and months and years that followed. Seeing him every time she looked at her children and hiding from them the sorrow, loss, and anger she felt towards their father.
All of this rushed in like a torrent that was both crushing and tearing her apart. She felt helpless at the onslaught and was shamed by her weakness. She couldn’t even muster enough of the hatred she had convinced herself that she felt for
him to break this spell she was bound up in.
Euan had spent the last three months wondering what he would feel when he stood face-to-face with Callie again. When he had seen her emerge from the woods desire had smacked him across the face before heading straight to his groin, and guilt had kicked him in the groin before wrenching his gut and stabbing at his heart. The sight of his children filled him with a joy he had never felt before and tears had welled in his eyes. His whole world had shifted to the three people on the back of a buckskin-colored horse and he realized that he no longer cared what he might have to give up for them.
Now that she stood before him his gaze swept across her features like a caress and his hands itched to follow. He noticed that the blue-gray of her over-shirt matched the color of her eyes and complemented her coloring. He wasn’t turned off by her backwoods attire at all. This was Callie, this was who she was.
Her hair was longer but still looked as silky as he remembered it, and the little curvy body hidden under those loose-fitting clothes was as enticing as it had been four years back. The breeze carried her clean, sweet, earthy scent to his nostrils and he remembered the scent of her feminine musk as well. His heart thundered, his pulse quickened, and his loins tightened. She still turned him on like no other woman. He knew then for certain that he loved her.
Always had.
Always would.
But he had hurt her, turned on her and away from her when she had done nothing to deserve it. He hadn’t been there for her as she had carried his bairns, gone through birthing them into this world, and cared for not one but two helpless infants through all the days and nights that had followed. He had been a bloody fool and a coward, and there was nothing he could do to make up for what he had done.
