by Linda Jacobs
Wyatt ran both hands through his hair, parting its damp waves. He swallowed and resisted the impulse to clear his throat. The last time he’d told Marie he loved her, it had been the rote habit of the long married. He hadn’t really listened to himself, and neither, apparently had she. Less than two days later he came home from the fabricating company and found his wife and her clothes gone.
Alicia waited, the air seeming to thicken between them. Her dark eyes shone with hope.
It would be so easy to go with the flow, but long habit kept him from committing without thinking things through. There was one thing, though, that she might appreciate.
He pushed himself upright in bed, jostling her. “Could you find my keys?”
Her eyes narrowed and she flounced out of bed, shoving the bedroom door open a little harder than necessary. “Need your wallet, too?” she called. “It’s pretty wet.”
“Just the keys.”
Alicia came back and sat on the edge of the bed as he sorted the jangling mass. Hoping she’d understand there were words he couldn’t say, he twisted the ring and removed the extra house key. “You should have one of these. Look out for the place while I’m gone.”
Wyatt drew her down in bed and snuggled her against his side, feeling fortunate at tonight’s narrow escape. Considering he, Kyle, and Nick were going into the backcountry for the new moon, he had to hope Brock Hobart was a head case.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SEPTEMBER 20
Early in the morning, Wyatt drove his pickup around the vehicles queued at Yellowstone’s north entrance. “Morning, Teri,” he greeted the female ranger who waved him through the employee gate and returned to turning away tourists in the traffic line.
With the main road from Gardiner to Mammoth closed by the slide, only Park Service workers would be permitted to take a dirt track up through the hills, a route that had been the historic access into the park. As Wyatt turned his truck onto the road usually reserved for one-way downhill, he checked his rearview mirror for Alicia in her Navigator. She was meeting some clients at the hotel for a wolf watching tour.
This morning he’d awakened to find her pressed against him, her arm twined across his chest. When she told him again that she loved him, eyes gleaming, he had smothered her words with a kiss.
As for why he was holding back, he reminded himself she was used to Dior while he led a simple ranger’s life. Though both of them were originally raised on ranches, hers was a broad expanse of South Texas scrub, home to her father’s collection of purebred Angus and exotic imported Axis and Fallow deer. Wyatt came from hardscrabble acreage in a valley north of Bozeman where his father and he had taken care of chores morning and evening.
Yet, while he drove over the sage covered hills, he decided his reluctance to commit had nothing to do with their diverse backgrounds. Alicia was a trouper who enjoyed fieldwork. Her neat townhouse in Gardiner wasn’t ostentatious, and her outdoor clothing came from the same catalogs he shopped.
They could make things work. There was no reason not to … except for the vague yearning that stirred in his chest at the memory of Kyle’s troubled eyes, and her recent refusal to talk freely to him.
Wyatt pressed the accelerator. The final leg of the uphill track wound back down above Mammoth. From this elevated vantage point, it looked like a toy town thrown together from different game sets, ancient buildings mixed with modern.
As he emerged from the dirt road onto the paved parking lot, he passed the hotel where Kyle and her old flame had spent the night.
Kyle greeted the ranger raising the United States flag outside Park Headquarters. With last night’s rain a memory, the sun had risen over the tabular top of Mt. Everts. A rime of predawn ice was melting from rooftops and parked vehicles.
At her side, Nick moved lithely through the frosted grass, his boots making crunching noises. He raised his arms over his head and stretched like a cat, expanding his chest to inhale deeply. Following his lead, Kyle took in the bracing air, though she walked more gingerly, her feet sore from the stone bruises she’d gotten on the slide.
“You still worried about Wyatt?” he asked.
Before she could reply, she followed his gaze across the lawns to the Resource Center. In front of the building, Wyatt was getting out of the Bronco.
She shouted his name. He turned and she waved, resisting the impulse to run over and hug him.
Wyatt waited for them outside the entry. With a glance at Nick, he said, “I trust you passed a pleasant evening.”
“And an even better night,” Nick rejoined.
“That’s more than I can say for myself.” Wyatt thrust his thumbs into his jacket pockets and leaned against a porch post. “After midnight I was driving down to see Alicia”—did Kyle imagine a faint emphasis on his girl’s name?—”when the side of the mountain came down into Gardner Canyon.”
Kyle gasped. “I was driving down, too, and almost got wiped out by the slide.”
Wyatt’s dark eyes held hers. “Are you all right?”
She kept her bandaged hands in her pockets. “For some reason I was scared for you. As though I knew you were out there too.”
She became aware of Nick scrutinizing them.
Suddenly, Wyatt pushed off the post and nodded at something behind her. “Company.”
Kyle turned to see the Billings Live Eye van pulling up.
Wyatt started toward the outer doors of the arctic entry. “After the way they twisted my words yesterday, I think I’ll let someone else handle them.”
Reporter Carol Leeds jumped out the van’s passenger door at the same time Brock Hobart stepped onto the north end of the porch. “There you are,” she called to him.
“Guess if you won’t oblige her, cowboy, old Brock’ll have to do.” Nick gave a theatrical sigh. “And here I thought they were looking for me.”
Brock moved to stand in front of the Resource Center sign, making it look like the freelance earthquake predictor was sanctioned. In casual clothes and thick-soled boots, he posed as every inch the field geologist.
“Chop, chop, Larry,” Carol called and waited while her ponytailed cameraman brought out his equipment. As soon as he signaled ready, she began, “I’m here this morning in Yellowstone with scientist Brock Hobart, talking about last night’s landslide that blocked the main northern road into the park. Apparently, no one was hurt, but the highway will require extensive repair before reopening.” She put the microphone in front of Brock.
He looked appropriately grave. “I’ve checked the Yellowstone Seismic Network and determined an earthquake of magnitude 2.7 happened last night at 12:07 AM local time with a 3.1 following at 12:29. The first report of the landslide came in from a motorist with a cell phone just minutes later.”
Carol broke in. “Could this have been the quake you predicted?”
Brock shook his head. “The new moon’s not for another five days.”
Kyle felt a chill that wasn’t entirely from the brisk wind. “I’ve had enough of this.”
Nick snagged her wrist. “Come on,” he murmured. “See the rest of the circus.”
She stayed in place and noted that Wyatt did, too. A few moments later, she regretted it, for Carol Leeds spotted them watching and lost interest in Brock. “Ranger Ellison,” she called. “I understand you were first on the scene last night.”
“How in hell do they do that?” Wyatt asked as he opened the Resource Center’s front door.
“They managed to miss that I was there,” Kyle told him.
Cameraman Larry filmed their retreat into the building, getting footage of Iniki Kuni at her desk. The Chief Ranger’s daughter looked pale as she gestured with ringed fingers adorned with chipped black nail polish. She wore a half a dozen earrings and one in her nose, which Kyle thought would go a long way for Yellowstone PR.
“Dr. Ellison!” Carol’s voice was shrill. “If I may?”
“You may not.” Wyatt ushered Kyle and Nick into his office and closed the doo
r in her face.
As soon as it shut, Nick began to laugh.
Wyatt went behind his desk and checked the seismic records. He reported that, of course, Brock had pulled the correct information off the website. “Looks like the first tremor loosened the hillside and the second sent it down the canyon,” he concluded.
“Let’s talk about getting into the field.” Nick tapped his foot.
Wyatt reached for a yellow legal pad and a pen. “It’s going to take at least today and tomorrow to get provisions ready for the backcountry. One mule can carry two of the plastic, weather-resistant boxes with components of the seismic stations. We’ll need ten or twelve mules … our wrangler will drive them up and back. I’ll set up horses for me and the two of you.”
“I thought we got that straight yesterday,” Nick said.
Wyatt grinned at Kyle. “You mean Dr. Nicholas Darden fucking hates horses?” To Nick, “It’s tamer than surfing.”
Kyle figured Wyatt wanted Nick in the saddle to even the playing field a bit. After all, Nick’s disdain for a lowly park ranger, even one with a freshly minted Ph.D., was obvious.
“Come on, guys,” she interjected. “Without a helicopter …”
A muscle jumped in the side of Nick’s jaw. He looked at her. “Do you ride?”
“Passably,” she allowed.
There was a short silence as Nick seemed to digest that there was no way he could get into the field without playing along. “Bring on the bridle,” he said. “I’ll ride whatever you’ve got.”
Next, they made a list: solar generator to run the computer, fuel, food, and camping gear. Kyle made a mental note to get a new climbing rope to replace the one she’d left home.
“Winter weather is setting in at elevation,” Wyatt warned. “We’ll make base camp at the Nez Perce patrol cabin, a log structure without much insulation. When the fire burns down at night, it’ll be cold near 10,000 feet.”
“What about the horses?” Nick put in.
“Lucky for you, the cabin has a little horse barn and corral.”
Wyatt tore off a page from the pad that was thick with writing. “Kyle, how about if you and Nick shop for provisions? I’ll make arrangements for the pack train and the seismic equipment.”
Before she could take the paper from his hand, the office door banged open.
“What in the world were you thinking?” demanded a wiry, black-haired woman wearing a Park Service uniform of dark trousers and gray shirt. “Slamming the door in a reporter’s face?”
Wyatt shoved back his chair and stood with a glance at his still shuddering door. “It happens I was careful not to slam it, Superintendent Bolido. But after the way they twisted our interview yesterday, I didn’t want to risk letting anything out that might scare the tourists …” He extended a hand. “Wyatt Ellison, by the way.”
She ignored his gesture of introduction and Wyatt gestured to Kyle and Nick who remained seated. “Dr. Kyle Stone of the Utah Institute and Dr. Nicholas Darden of USGS.”
The Superintendent barely nodded in their direction. “Just now, Billings Live Eye came to my office. They wanted to know what the geology department is covering up after Brock Hobart’s prediction of a 6.0.”
“I’m not hiding a thing,” Wyatt replied. “Ask whatever you want.”
She stared at him for a long moment and then seemed to decide on a different management approach. Ruffling her hair, she inhaled deeply. “Okay.”
Nick rose gracefully and offered his chair in a manner Kyle thought bordered on caricature.
The Superintendent appeared to be charmed by him. “Sorry, I’m Janet Bolido.”
“I gathered as much,” he replied with a grin.
Janet responded to Nick with an answering lift of her lips and sank into the chair beside Kyle.
“Dr. Stone,” she said. “Dr. Ellison. I’m pleased to meet you all.”
“We’re mounting a geologic expedition into the park interior …”
Janet broke in. “Can we start with this big quake Brock Hobart says is coming?”
“I used to work with Brock at USGS,” Kyle said, “but now he’s considered beyond the pale by most serious scientists.”
Wyatt nodded. “The publicity surrounding David Mowry’s death probably attracted him here.”
Kyle bent forward. “But nobody can do what he is claiming.”
Nick, watching them volley over tented fingers, put in, “All we can say is we’ve had a swarm of activity. Some caldera swelling.”
Janet held up a hand. “Speak English.”
Briefly, Kyle gave a thumbnail sketch of Yellowstone geology, which she thought Janet should have been up on before coming to the park. She concluded with, “An increase in seismic activity might lead to a large earthquake or even a magma explosion.”
“You mean an eruption?” Janet shrilled. “As in a volcano?”
“The park is virtually the planet’s largest volcano. There have been many eruptions before and will certainly be again.”
Nick cleared his throat. “When people like Hobart say a 6.0 is coming, we can’t say it’s not. Usually the deadline passes and the predictor goes home, but who can say?”
“What do you think is going to happen?” Janet’s sun-weathered brow furrowed.
“I don’t know.” Nick shook his head. “A quake of over magnitude 5.0 would be unusual in volcanic terrain, but who’s to say with the park’s complex geology?”
Since Wyatt had told her of Janet’s reluctance to frighten tourists, Kyle now sensed the Superintendent was hearing what she wanted in their uncertainty. So she said, “Something you should be aware of. Last night’s Gardner Canyon landslide happened at the time of a 3.1 magnitude earthquake.”
“The press told me,” Janet said. “And asked whether the slide was connected to the quake. I said I didn’t know.”
“You don’t,” Nick agreed. “It was raining to beat hell, wet enough to destabilize any steep slope.”
Janet tapped a square-tipped nail on the desk. “I’m beginning to think you don’t know much.”
Kyle felt a flush of heat and saw a dull red appear on Wyatt’s cheekbones.
“Not you folks in particular,” Janet tempered. “But geology doesn’t sound like a very exact science. Why should I pay for fieldwork when you can get funding from”—she pointed at Nick—”USGS.”
He looked regretful. “I wasn’t authorized to bring Volcano Hazards’ checkbook.”
“Just the thing to kick off our Wonderland campaign,” Janet said glumly. “Volcano Hazards.”
With his sacred cow being gored, Nick became animated. “Scientists tend to monitor areas of unrest from a distance, like Kyle’s network of seismic stations. Pilots run traverses measuring gravity and magnetics.”
He pointed at the Superintendent. “But Lady, when earthquake zones or volcanoes wake from slumber, you go to the field.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
SEPTEMBER 22
Aren’t there service roads in the park?” Nick groused. Kyle suppressed a smile and watched him stand well back as Wyatt unloaded a horse from one of the trailers. In the low meadow near Pelican Creek, last night’s frost had melted to dewdrops on the grass.
“There are some roads.” Wyatt patted the russet rump of a black-maned stallion. “I thought you’d rather rough it.”
Nick turned away, drew his Volcano Hazards ball cap lower over his eyes and said no more. Evidently, he recalled the cardinal rule of not bitching in the field.
“Actually, where we’re going there are only trails,” Wyatt relented with a sidelong glance from under his uniform hat. “Okay, boy,” he murmured, as the horse’s hooves clattered down the trailer ramp. “Meet Thunder.”
The big bay tossed his head and Wyatt let him dance on his slack lead. Thunder surged past, flicked his tail at a fly, and swished Nick’s face.
The muleteer chuckled. His remuda of twelve long-eared animals stood patiently, each bearing several hundred pounds of equipment a
nd supplies.
“Thunder isn’t for Nick?” Kyle hoped Wyatt wouldn’t have pulled such a stunt.
“Course not. Got a smoky gelding out of the stables, one they use for greenhorn lessons. Gray’s his name.” He gestured toward the sedate-looking animal. “Matches his personality.”
From where he stood a respectable ten feet from Gray, Nick said, “Yeah, but what’ll I do if this guy spooks?”
“I’d say old Gray’s almost guaranteed not to.” Wyatt chewed a piece of straw. “Almost, because with horses there’s never a sure thing.”
The muleteer laughed again. “I’ll stick with my plodding girls.”
Despite Gray’s reputed passive nature, Nick gave him cautious looks all through the short and not-so-sweet riding instruction from Wyatt.
Kyle spent the time getting familiar with the gait of Strawberry, a sweet roan filly with a bit of spunk. Though Franny had taught her to ride when she was seven, she had not been on a horse in some years. Fortunately, it wasn’t something easily forgotten. As they got under way on the gentle terrain, their pace was easy. Flocks of migratory ducks and geese were on the wing, their calls punctuating the rhythmic thud of hooves. Where the horses’ passage crushed the sage, a pungent scent rose from silver-green leaves.
Despite Kyle’s reluctance at heading into the backcountry, she enjoyed the crystalline blue of morning sky.
As they rode into the forest, she caught a glimpse of Mary’s Bay through the trees. At the northeast end of Yellowstone Lake, the smooth curve of shore marked where the reaction of hot rock with cold ground water had produced a steam explosion only 14,000 years ago.
As the trail steepened on the incline to Mist Creek Pass, Kyle rode between the two men. Wyatt sat tall in the saddle, looking official in his uniform. Tourists did not carry firearms in the park, but he wore a holstered pistol on his hip.
Nick rode more sloppily, alternately holding himself up in the saddle and slumping over Gray. After a while, he began to cover his unease with bravado, one exotic story following another from his field career.
