Shadows of the Mountain

by Bev Pettersen

  He reached out and brushed the drops away, his hand lingering on her skin. Something stirred inside him, an emotion he hadn’t felt for a long time—tenderness.

  “You need to get out of those clothes,” he said, dropping his hand. “I’ll get your pack and drop it behind that fir tree. We’re not riding any further today.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” She shot a relieved look at the palomino. “I think Slider’s okay. But I need to get him warm.”

  She pulled his shirt from her shoulders, rolled it in a tight ball and began blotting water from Slider’s neck.

  “Kate,” Jack said, reaching out and giving her an exasperated hug. “My shirt’s for you, not the horse. And I’ll take care of Slider. Go and get out of your clothes.”

  “But you’re wet too.”

  “I wasn’t in the water as long. But I’ll be changing as soon as you come back.”

  She looked at him for a moment, then gave an assenting nod and eased away. And though she hadn’t remained in his arms very long, the fact that she trusted him to care for the horse made him feel better.

  She didn’t pull on his shirt though. Instead, she placed the fleece side over Slider’s back, shooting Jack an apologetic smile before turning and heading toward the trees. And maybe it was okay that she’d sacrificed his best shirt for Slider. Because her wet clothes clung to her body, molding her curves like a bodysuit. Even the way she moved was sexy. He turned away, feeling like a voyeur.

  Logan was seizing the chance to check her out too. The agent’s eyes were hidden behind his dark sunglasses. But Jack understood body language and he knew what the man was doing.

  He also knew he didn’t like it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE LATE-AFTERNOON sun warmed Kate’s shoulders, leaving her relaxed and drowsy. Or maybe it was the effect of the crackling campfire. Certainly everyone seemed calm following the river mishap. Tyra sat on the opposite side of the fire, eyes closed and cocooned in a blanket. Slider was with the other horses, contentedly eating grass.

  Kate stretched, delighting in the luxury of being able to sit down and grab a little break before making supper. All the men were being astonishingly helpful. Jack and Monty had looked after the animals and pitched the tents, and Logan and Kessler had made a lovely campfire.

  Of course, it was Jack who’d set the tone. She couldn’t quite figure out the Secret Service men. At first she’d thought Kessler was in charge, but in some areas he seemed to defer to Jack. Kessler was definitely the most uptight, at least with her. He’d already moved to stand back by the trees, ever watchful while Courtney and Logan gathered more wood.

  Jack strode back, effortlessly carrying the heavy panniers. He set them on the ground then walked over and re-angled the three pairs of boots drying by the fire.

  “Almost dry,” he said. “I checked your clothes too. They’re ready.”

  He’d rigged up a clothesline a discrete distance from camp, and the thought of his big hands touching her underwear made her pulse quicken. Something had changed between them, evidenced by the easy way he sat down beside her, and how he’d so swiftly reassigned her duties, insisting she couldn’t do any chores in bare feet. Being idle was odd, especially when she wasn’t hurt. But it was also rather nice for a change.

  “If diving in the water earns this much payback,” she joked, “maybe I’ll do it every trail ride.”

  “We all know it wasn’t just a dive,” Jack said. “You saved the day.”

  There was an odd look in his eyes, almost of admiration. And he gave her knee a little squeeze, the intimacy so sweet and unexpected that he captured another piece of her heart. But she knew she hadn’t really done anything.

  He was the one who had saved Tyra and ultimately freed Slider’s leg. He hadn’t hesitated to dive under and help out either, even though the water had been numbingly cold, so frigid that when she’d first jumped off Belle she hadn’t been able to think.

  “You’re obviously used to trail riding,” she said. “Do you always carry extra boots?”

  “When I’m working, yes.”

  She peeked at his face. Was he reminding her that this new attentiveness was just part of his job? He was an intuitive man. Maybe he sensed her interest. He’d already shown a well-developed ability to keep women at arm’s length. Both Tyra and Courtney blushed whenever Jack spoke to them. And Tyra now viewed him as her savior, her infatuation obvious. But he had no trouble brushing off their attention.

  He just walked away, as he had with Allie by the pool. And Kate had personally experienced how quickly he could ditch a dance partner. But when he looked at her as he was doing now—as if she were someone special—it only left her confused.

  She leaned forward and picked up her boots. Ran her hand over the leather, pretending an absorption with checking the sole. Luckily she’d had the presence of mind to slip her boot knife and sheath into her pack before turning her clothes over to Jack for drying. The agents still controlled all weapons, and she and Monty couldn’t even use the hatchet.

  “My boots are dry,” she said. “So I’ll start supper now.”

  “Okay,” Jack said. “But I think it’s time to return this.” He took her hand, pressed something against her palm, then closed her fingers. “In case you need to rescue someone again.”

  The tip of her red jackknife protruded from her fingers. It looked tiny compared to her boot knife. But its significance was enormous.

  “Every rider should have a knife,” he said, still clasping her wrist. He had a cowboy’s hands, tanned, capable, marked with faded scars. His index finger traced the sensitive base of her thumb, his touch gentle but deliberate. Possessive.

  Her pulse jumped as his finger circled her palm, branding her with his touch. It was evident in the dance hall that he was comfortable with women, his slow smile, the brush of his mouth over her hair, the way he’d kept their bodies perfectly aligned as he guided her around the floor. But the way he caressed her now was different. And they both knew it.

  She looked at him, then back at their joined hands where she felt the heavy thud of his pulse, beating in time with hers. Returning her jackknife was a huge gesture of trust on his part, and one that Kessler surely hadn’t approved. Jack was sticking his neck out for her. And she knew she needed to tell him about her other knife. To explain why she always felt the need to carry it.

  “You’re so brave,” Jack said. “Jumping in that water to help Slider. With nothing but your quick thinking.”

  The approval in his voice left her feeling like a fraud. Because she’d gone into the river knowing she had her boot knife. In fact, she’d been planning to cut the reins, but Slider had been drowning and there hadn’t been time to get it out. It had been quicker to pull off his bridle.

  Tyra abruptly sat up. “I’m hungry,” she said. Her eyes were wide open and she stared at Kate with an accusing expression. “When’s supper?”

  “In thirty minutes,” Kate said, slipping the jackknife into her back pocket. “Would you like to help grill the steaks?”

  “No,” Tyra snapped. “That’s your job. Where’s Courtney?”

  “Gathering wood with Logan,” Jack said. He rose in a smooth athletic motion, his voice much harsher than it had been mere seconds ago. “And since your boots are dry, this is a good time to check Slider. That’s your job. Not Kate’s.”

  “But I don’t want to ride that horse anymore.” Tyra pushed the blanket off her shoulders, not brave enough to look at Jack but clearly agitated. “He’s not safe.”

  Despite the girl’s entitled attitude, it was obvious from her quavering voice that she was genuinely afraid.

  “We can discuss that later with Monty,” Kate said. “He makes all those decisions. Don’t worry. He’ll do what’s best for you.”

  “Yeah, right.” Tyra rolled her eyes. “Nobody cares about me. If Courtney had fallen in the river, you’d probably call in a helicopter.” She crossed her arms, looking belligerent but for a second her voice
cracked, revealing a vulnerable teenager.

  Kate was in the middle of tugging on her boots but she stilled. She’d thought the girls were getting along well but clearly Tyra resented Courtney’s elevated status. And her words rang true. Logan and Kessler had bolted to Courtney’s side, and though the two men tended to bicker, their allegiance to Courtney was obvious. Jack hadn’t hesitated to gallop back into the river. But now that Tyra had seen him holding Kate’s hand, the girl obviously felt even more alone.

  Kate dropped her boot and moved to the girl’s side. “I’ll look out for you,” she said gently. “That’s why Monty and I are here. And you know Jack is always watching. He was the first one in the water.”

  “But you’re not Secret Service.” Tyra’s voice rose. “And Kessler and Logan left me.”

  “What happened in the river was truly frightening,” Kate said. “But it won’t happen again. Next time we cross any water I’ll walk beside you on Belle. Mules never go where it’s dangerous, even when the rider asks them. That’s why they’re so safe.”

  “I’m not riding in the back with the stupid mules. And I’m not scared of horses. I’ve been around them all my life. I just don’t want to drown on a stupid trail ride.”

  “Hey, Tyra, you’re awake!” Courtney called. She hurried toward the campfire, two branches in her arm and a wide smile on her face. “Logan says the mustangs are in the next valley. We’ll see them tomorrow. Isn’t that great!”

  “Yeah,” Tyra said. “Super great.” And though she gave a vigorous nod, it was obvious her enthusiasm was fake; her mouth formed more of a grimace than a smile.

  Kate peeked at Jack. His face had returned to its usual forbidding expression, but she caught the concern in his eyes. He gave her a sympathetic look and walked away. Naturally.

  It was tempting to follow, to slip into the woods and escape. But they both had jobs to do. His to protect and hers to make sure the girls had a good time. Judging by Tyra’s mutinous expression, Kate’s job would be more difficult.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KATE PULLED THE BOILING water off the grill and washed the last of the supper plates. The camp was blessedly quiet. Monty was buckling hobbles on the mules, switching horses off the picket line and making sure they all had a chance to graze. Courtney and Tyra were with Logan, in the middle of one of their private security check-ins, while Jack and Kessler stood watch somewhere in the trees.

  Kate packed all the food away in the panniers, then moved them downwind, a prudent distance from the tents. The animal resistant panniers were effective and even if the scent drew wildlife, they’d be far away from the sleeping area. She’d grain the horses later, when they were all tied to the picket line, and also lead them to the river for a final watering.

  Monty wandered back carrying his tin cup, looking relaxed now that the guests were out of earshot. “So, how are you holding up? You did a helluva job earlier. That Tyra girl is sure demanding.”

  He took a pensive sip, his gaze drifting toward the two girls gathered around Logan. “Wonder what they’re reporting about the river incident. Never saw two men split so fast. All they did was get in my way. And their hands were on their holsters. Not sure how they thought guns were going to help.”

  Kate dumped more soap in the sudsy water, still feeling sympathy for Tyra. It would have been a scary two minutes hung up in that saddle, helpless and unable to breathe. “At least we know they’re good at watching out for someone,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Monty said. “It appears the President’s daughter is quite safe. It would be hard to take down three agents, unless they’re split up. Or totally surprised.”

  Kate’s head jerked up. The tone of Monty’s voice had changed, turning thoughtful. He no longer seemed to be talking about the river, but something else. And they’d been warned never to refer to Courtney as the President’s daughter. They weren’t even supposed to call her by name in the unlikely event they met other riders.

  “You mean Petal,” Kate said, edging closer and checking the contents of Monty’s cup. The cook always tucked in a bottle or two, and most riders enjoyed a campfire drink. But Kate had assumed they’d abstain from alcohol, given the age and importance of their guests.

  The drink in Monty’s cup was amber colored though. Definitely not coffee. And now that she was closer she could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Are they okay with drinking?” she whispered.

  “We always have a drink at night,” Monty said. “That’s part of the ride. And guests are fed, tents are pitched. We’re done for the day. Besides, we need one after the river crossing. That girl is probably going to be terrified tomorrow. Boss won’t be happy.”

  He took another brooding sip and it was clear he felt responsible for Tyra, and for almost losing Slider.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Kate said. “How about I saddle up Belle? And lead Slider across the river before it gets dark. Help him get back his confidence.”

  Monty nodded. “Good idea. And if Tyra really doesn’t want to ride him anymore, would you switch? Belle will take care of her. And Slider trusts you. Think you could ride him?”

  “Sure, if that’s what Tyra wants.” Kate gave a nonchalant shrug and turned toward the horses. But her heart was thumping. Tomorrow’s ride included a long winding section along the base of Saddleback Ridge, nothing like the mountain pass to the west. But there were spots with ten-foot drops. And just the thought of riding a horse over that type of terrain—a horse named Slider—sent fear worming through her belly. She comforted herself with the knowledge that Tyra would never lower herself to ride a mule. Like Logan, the girl scorned them, considering mules inferior.

  Rather reassured, Kate saddled Belle and collected the palomino. But even his friendly nicker didn’t make her feel much better. Now she obsessed about his name. Slider? How ominous was that? More than ever, she wished Tyra hadn’t picked a horse based on color.

  Slider shouldn’t be expected to do anything but look handsome in his golden coat while galloping around a tractor-groomed arena, flashing that thick white mane and tail. He was a performance horse, bred for high scores in reining, not scrambling over rough trails and rocky river crossings. He’d probably be too terrified to step one foot into that river, and after such an experience she didn’t blame him.

  But when she led him down to the water, he didn’t hesitate. He splashed right in beside Belle, acting like a veteran trail horse, proving he was much more resilient than Kate.

  Sighing, she stopped both animals in the middle of the river. She patted the ever-patient Belle, then reached over to stroke Slider’s neck. The palomino stood stock still in the swirling water, not stepping off the gravel path, taking his cues from the confident mule and Kate’s reassuring voice.

  “You really are a brave horse,” she whispered. “But I still don’t want to ride you.”

  She looked back at Monty who watched from the river bank. She gave him a thumbs-up, relieved Slider had no mental scars. He’d be fine for tomorrow. They’d just have to convince Tyra of that.

  It was then Kate spotted the tree notch. Fifty feet to the right of Monty, on a steep bank by the water, out of sight of camp but visible to anyone approaching from the other side. And it was exactly the same shape as the mark she’d spotted at their lunch stop.

  She turned her head, pretending to pat Belle’s neck but actually studying the trees on the opposite bank. Was someone standing there? Watching her? Watching Courtney?

  Goosebumps chilled the back of her neck. But Belle nosed at the water, playfully plunging her dripping muzzle in and out of the swirling eddies, and even Slider relaxed enough to paw and splash with his front leg. Neither animal acted as if there were any strangers spying from the woods.

  Perhaps marking the trail was something the Secret Service did? They seemed obsessed about following some sort of procedure. Maybe it was marked so a rider could find the river crossing, in case something happened to Monty. Or maybe Monty was marking the trail for future ri
ders. He was helpful like that, always giving less experienced guides valuable tips. But then she remembered... Monty didn’t even carry a knife. His gear had been confiscated by Kessler.

  She turned the animals and waded back through the river, studiously not looking over her shoulder.

  Monty set down his cup and stepped up to the water’s edge. She passed him Slider’s lead line and stepped down from Belle’s back, relieved they were still alone.

  “Someone is marking our trail,” she whispered. “I’ve spotted two fresh tree blazes, and there could be a couple more I missed. You’re not doing it, are you?”

  “Of course not.” His smile faded. “Are you sure?”

  “Maybe not about the one at lunch. But I’m positive the mark by the bank wasn’t there when we first crossed.” Then she hesitated. Maybe she had missed it. She’d been focused on keeping the mule train in line, and then on rescuing Tyra and Slider.

  But Monty nodded, his voice troubled. “No, you’re right. I didn’t see a blaze either. And none of the agents said anything. The only time they were out of sight was at lunch...and now here.”

  They both twisted, peering around but trying not to look obvious about it. At first glance, the camp seemed normal. Contented horses, comfortable tents, a friendly fire. But the elaborate communication equipment was far from normal. And the bulges beneath the men’s shirts were a constant reminder of Courtney’s importance.

  “We have to tell one of the agents,” Kate whispered.

  “Yes,” Monty said. “But which one?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  KATE PRESSED SOME CHOCOLATE on top of the melted marshmallow and cracker. “Would you like another one, Courtney?”

  “No, thank you,” the girl said. Night had fallen but the glow from the fire revealed her subdued expression. And her voice was definitely strained.