Shadows of the Mountain

by Bev Pettersen

  Other than her, Logan was the only person who hadn’t had time to eat. He seemed to be waiting for her to make it, so she grabbed a bun and assembled a sandwich.

  “All gluten free, right?” the agent asked, accepting the sandwich and then adding an extra slice of meat and cheese to his already bulging bun. “Even the sandwich bread?”

  “Yes, everything we brought is safe,” Kate said. “Including the desserts. There’s no sandwich bread. It doesn’t pack well. But those buns are gluten free, along with the pita bread.”

  “Good,” Logan said, giving an approving nod. “That makes it easier.”

  Other than quick introductions at dawn, she’d barely spoken to this particular agent. He hadn’t been present during the morning search but had arrived later with the girls. And he rode his horse up front, directly behind Courtney and Tyra.

  He was much friendlier than Kessler and both girls seemed comfortable with him. He didn’t share Kessler’s aggressive air or Jack’s grim wariness. Short and stocky, he seemed the type who appreciated good food, bringing to mind an amiable Lab dog. Still, there was no overlooking the bulky gun holster beneath his shirt, or the reason he was on this trip.

  “I didn’t realize there’d be so many trails,” Logan said, slowing his chewing now that he wasn’t quite so hungry. He gave Kate a grin that split his round face. “Hope we’re taking an easy route. Hate to admit it but I’m already stiff.”

  She smiled back and pointed at the wooded path beyond the grazing mules. “I imagine we’ll be taking that trail. It’s a gentle climb, no steep hills.”

  “Good,” he said, appraising the trail. “At least I’m a better rider than Kessler. He won’t like anything steep. I gather you don’t either, considering your experience in the mountains last year. And I understand you only ride mules?”

  He took another bite of his sandwich, his gaze fixed on the girls who’d succeeded in braiding Slider’s mane with bright flowers and were now taking pictures of their handiwork. Luckily Logan was more interested in monitoring the girls than Kate. Or he might have noticed the flush that warmed her cheeks.

  She concentrated on rewrapping the sliced ham. It was obvious the agents knew everything about her. But Danny’s death left a raw bruise on her heart, and she didn’t like talking about the accident, not even with her therapist. She certainly didn’t intend to talk about it with a government agent, no matter how well-meaning. But Logan glanced back, obviously expecting a reply.

  “I do prefer mules,” she said. “I trust them. They’re more sensible.”

  “A spirited horse can be scary,” Logan said. “Especially when they cause a wreck like the one you had to clean up. But accidents happen. I saw a rider killed while jumping. Turned me off horses for a while. It’s understandable. But you’ll get over it.”

  “Yes,” she said. Maybe. She glanced at Monty who was checking each animal’s feet and girth area, the signal that it was time to saddle up. She reached for the containers and began packing the rest of the food, deciding to settle for a granola bar for her lunch.

  “Did you really make a spear?” Logan asked. “Fight off wolves? You look far too beautiful to do that.”

  Kate stiffened. These agents were privy to her file but surely that carried some sort of professional courtesy. Didn’t matter. She’d learned how to handle them.

  “And you look far too nice to ever use a gun,” she said, with saccharine sweetness. “Did you ever shoot anyone?”

  “Women ask me that all the time,” Logan said. “Let me tell you, mine is the most exciting job in the world. And I’ve certainly had occasion to use my gun.”

  Kate’s mouth twitched and she struggled to hold back her smile. This agent was certainly self-absorbed. She’d meant the question only as a simple shutdown but he was proceeding to tell her about every time he’d pulled his gun. And it sounded memorized, like pick-up lines he used in a bar.

  “Wow,” she said, when he slowed to take a breath.

  His eyes narrowed so obviously she hadn’t sounded suitably impressed.

  “That’s really something,” she added, all the while hurrying to replace food in their containers.

  Logan gave a self-important nod and patted his shoulder holster. “I can tell you more stories later,” he said. “But right now it’s time to check in. And that requires privacy.” His voice turned formal, and he sounded almost like Kessler. “Please tell Monty we need another twenty minutes before riding out.”

  “Certainly,” she said. “But phones won’t work, not back here.” She doubted even the walkie on Logan’s hip would reach more than a few hundred feet.

  “Our equipment works,” Logan said, sounding almost smug. “You can wait by the horses with Monty. I’ll make the call right here on the knoll.”

  Kate obligingly moved over to the horses as Logan gathered the girls around the tree stump. He fiddled with a gleaming black radio and reported in at exactly twelve-hundred hours. Moments later, his low words were replaced by Courtney’s voice, higher and more distinguishable. Portions of her sentences drifted as she spoke animatedly about seeing rabbits and partridge, how she was being careful to protect the wilderness, and that she was even burying her own toilet paper.

  “Not much of an escape,” Monty muttered, “when you have to report how many times you wipe your ass.” But he gave a reluctant smile when he spotted the flowers woven into Slider’s mane.

  “The girls are having fun,” he said. “And they’re smart. They remember everything you told them, even the Latin names of the flowers. I’m glad you’re here, Kate.”

  He jabbed his thumb toward Slider’s left hoof, his smile fading. “That front shoe’s loose. I’ll reset it tonight.”

  Kate sighed. This was typical with horses like Slider who didn’t have good feet. His were white, dish-shaped and obviously brittle. Unlike the tough mules who didn’t require shoes, the palomino wouldn’t be able to cope barefoot for long. He came from a reining line, bought at an auction and bred primarily for looks and athletic ability. Not for hardiness.

  “Will his shoe stay on another five hours?” she asked, turning and eyeing the orange pannier that contained their farrier tools. Unfortunately the tools had been assigned to the agents—along with anything else that represented a potential weapon. And they were all packed alongside the satellite equipment, making it impossible to retrieve. Logan’s directions had been polite but non-negotiable: She and Monty were to keep a prudent distance during all communication check-ins.

  “Not much we can do about it,” Monty said. “They might shoot us if we walk over there now. And they want to make camp by four o’clock.”

  “Is the horse okay?” Jack’s deep voice surprised her. Only minutes ago, he’d entered the trees on the opposite side of the meadow. Few people could move that fast through the woods, or so silently. Certainly not something she’d expected from a Washington agent.

  “Loose shoe,” Monty said, succinct as ever when talking to people he didn’t know.

  “Can’t you take care of it?” Jack frowned, obviously puzzled why a loose shoe was even an issue. A guide as experienced as Monty should have extensive shoeing experience. Kate had also taken several farrier courses.

  “Our equipment was assigned to Logan,” Kate said. “It was considered dangerous in our hands. And they want to ride out as soon as the call is finished.”

  “I’ll collect your tools,” Jack said, his gaze dropping over Slider’s hoof and then back to Kate. “Take as much time as you need. To help the horse.”

  He headed toward the pannier, moving like a man who didn’t expect to be challenged. He was lean and hard and undeniably lethal. She’d already felt the ridges of that muscled body and he obviously kept fit for a reason. But he didn’t seem dangerous now, only helpful. And she couldn’t help giving a little sigh because it was natural to appreciate such a good-looking male... Strictly from a distance of course.

  “That agent isn’t such a dick,” Monty said.


  Kate yanked her head away. “Logan isn’t so bad either,” she said. “They’re a lot alike.” And that was so blatantly untrue she half expected Monty to laugh.

  However, Monty’s gaze remained locked on the three men. Logan was looking at Jack, nodding permission, but Kessler appeared to argue before eventually jabbing his thumb at the pannier.

  “Looks like we’ll be able to fix Slider’s shoe right now,” she said, relieved Monty hadn’t picked up on her reluctant interest in Jack. “At least all the agents want the same thing.”

  “Maybe,” Monty said. “But there are strange undercurrents.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not sure.” Monty stroked the brim of his hat, his voice troubled. “Can’t put a finger on it. But I get the feeling they’re not just watching the girls. They’re watching each other.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  KATE TOOK A LAST GLANCE around the meadow before clucking at the mules and falling in at the rear of the other riders. Except for an occasional hoofprint, little evidence remained of their visit. As she’d anticipated, Monty chose the meandering trail past the old fir tree, the route skirting the base of Saddleback Ridge. It was a bit longer so the trail was less popular, but other than the river and a few rocky sections it was relatively easy riding.

  Courtney and Tyra had already crossed several creeks, so the wider Mustang River shouldn’t be too difficult. By now Monty had assessed all the riders and probably decided they were capable of squeezing around a few boulders. And with this route they’d be less likely to meet other people who might have entered to the north of the ranch. Even the most adrenaline-seeking four-wheelers couldn’t come this way, and hikers preferred the scenic route with the glassy lakes and pastel mountain meadows.

  Her relief that they were avoiding higher ground left her a little too relaxed. Belle had stepped out, eager to stay close to the departing horses. But the two pack mules weren’t so keen. And when Gus balked, he jerked the lead line from Kate’s hand. He looked momentarily surprised to be free, then both he and Bubba shoved their noses back down, snatching mouthfuls of grass and acting as if they hadn’t been eating for the last hour.

  Kate turned Belle, then leaned over her saddle, trying to snag Gus’s lead line without dismounting. But Gus was crafty, inching his head away from her hand, just enough to stay out of reach. She leaned further, stretching like a trick rider, her hand so low it brushed the grass. Finally she was able to grab the side of Gus’s halter, pull his head up, and reclaim the dangling lead line.

  Something flashed, a blur of white oddly out of place against the green and brown of the trees.

  She straightened, keeping a tight hold of Gus’s lead line and peered into the woods. But no matter how hard she searched, the pale shape had disappeared. It was probably nothing, perhaps the underbelly of an animal. Beneath her, Belle fidgeted, figuring they should either follow the other horses or be allowed to graze.

  It was never wise to linger with a string of pack animals so Kate angled toward the trail, following the line of riders. But she studied the trees as she entered the shaded woods. She thought they’d been careful. Everyone had been reminded to respect the environment, and even the girls had scrupulously buried their toilet paper. Possibly a napkin had blown across the meadow and been caught up in the trees. It would have been easy to miss. She hadn’t even noticed that flash of white until she leaned down to retrieve Gus’s rope.

  On impulse, she stretched low over her stirrup, scanning the base of the trees. And spotted the white blaze again. Not a napkin or an animal, but a fresh tree cut. The notch was low and unobtrusive, out of sight of a rider but clearly marking the trail. She wouldn’t have noticed it if Gus hadn’t grabbed the extra chance to graze.

  The tree blaze might have been there earlier, serving as a trail marker for previous riders. However, most people preferred an environmentally friendly way of trail marking. Certainly Sharon Barrett stressed a “leave no trace” policy. And it was in an odd spot, poorly placed. Nobody would see it unless by accident.

  Or if they knew where to look.

  She peered over her shoulder. Both pack mules were following, keeping an optimal distance with no tension on their ropes. They didn’t act spooked or curious about another presence. But a shiver of disquiet prickled her neck. She straightened, staring over Belle’s long ears, then twisted, checking behind her again.

  Nobody was there. Seconds later, the meadow disappeared, lost behind the mules’ bulky packs and the flanking trees.

  She squeezed Belle’s sides, feeling isolated. She couldn’t even hear the horses ahead. Gus’s little escapade had only taken a minute, but with the winding trail, it was enough to put the other riders out of sight. And she suddenly craved company.

  Belle’s head lifted, her ears pricking. A horse and rider stood in the middle of the trail, waiting. Jack.

  She gave him a grateful smile. Kessler and Logan may not have good trail manners, but Jack certainly did. He wasn’t the type to leave anyone behind.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, his gaze flickering over her face. “Want me to lead the mules for a bit? Your arm’s probably sore. Or maybe your neck from looking over your shoulder.”

  She’d been about to mention the tree blaze but there was a strange note in his voice, almost of displeasure. Didn’t he like that she was being watchful? Making sure no one was following? And he’d been alone in the trees for most of the lunch stop. Maybe he had left that blaze. He was the agent who moved like a ninja. Kessler and Logan rammed through the woods, arguing and snapping branches like bull moose.

  “Are other agents riding in?” she asked. “Joining us at camp?”

  “I think the five of us are enough to look after two girls,” he said, not really answering her question. “They’ve learned a lot from you already. But they didn’t give you a chance to eat. Let me take the mules for a while.”

  He moved his horse alongside Belle, his hand brushing her wrist as he reached for Gus’s lead rope.

  She fought the rush of awareness, the familiarity of his touch. But her body was on full alert, her skin tingling as it remembered how those fingers had held her hand, trailed over her hip, lifted her hair to cool her neck...and possibly slashed a tree so other riders could follow.

  “I can wait until we make camp,” she said.

  “When the girls will be clamoring for your attention. It could be sundown before you have time for yourself.”

  He was probably right. Not only were Courtney and Tyra accustomed to a high level of service, they had no experience with camping or how to care for their horses, or even entertained the notion that they should think of their animals first. They seemed open to learning, but the process would be slow.

  Even Monty hadn’t realized that Kate missed her lunch. The fact that Jack noticed left her surprised. And softened. She let him pry Gus’s lead rope from her fingers. Once her right hand was free, she reached in her pocket, searching for a granola bar.

  “I am a bit hungry,” she admitted.

  “I filled some rolls and put them in the side compartment of my saddle bag,” Jack said. “Didn’t know if you’d prefer vegetarian or meat so I made both.”

  She pulled her hand from her pocket. “Thanks,” she said, rather dumbfounded.

  “Food’s in the top compartment,” Jack said.

  She slowed Belle and reached into the bag behind Jack’s saddle, pulling out the first sandwich roll she found.

  “Which one do you have?” he asked.

  She straightened in the saddle, peeled back the plastic wrap and peeked inside. “The meat one,” she said. “Want a bite? Or would you rather I took the other one?”

  “No.” His eyes cut from her face back to the trail. “They’re both for you.”

  “I’ll eat fast,” she said, already dipping her head for a bite. “Then I can take Gus and Bubba.”

  “No rush. I’m quite sure I can handle them.”

  If he were any other
man, it might have sounded like bragging. But Jack was making a simple statement. And the mules were behaving perfectly. Gus had already switched his allegiance to Jack’s horse, keeping his head two inches from Dusty’s thick tail. And Belle was stepping out alongside Dusty, delighted to have equine company.

  Jack remained beside her long after she finished eating. He was good company too, drawing her out with questions and actually talking about things that were of interest. He had a keen mind, able to discuss issues ranging from forest deterioration and hunting license reform, to lighter but equally debatable subjects. Like if Wranglers really were the best riding jeans and the reason why hinnies—similar to a mule but with a donkey mother and a horse sire—weren’t as common as a mule sired by a donkey.

  “In addition to chromosomes,” Kate said, her voice firming, “I think the reason there aren’t so many hinnies is because there are fewer female donkeys, and people that own them want to breed to donkeys.”

  “And I still think it’s because the female donkeys are fussier,” Jack said. “They prefer their own species. While a donkey stud is happy to overlook small differences.” He reached over and gave a teasing tug at Belle’s long ear. “Or even bigger ones.”

  Despite his straight face, his sparkling eyes revealed his sense of humor, something he seemed to maintain even when they held opposing views. And she was beginning to suspect he kept taking the opposite side just to keep her talking.

  A strategy which was working. She’d talked more on this trail ride than on all the rides the week before. She’d certainly forgotten her earlier suspicion about a weird tree blaze.

  And she probably needed to research this donkey subject a little more before taking on such an intelligent man. His knowledge of the back country rivaled her own. He didn’t try to humor her either, seeming to respect her opinion. But she was competitive enough to want the last word.