Strawberry Hill

by Catherine Anderson

  “Aw, shit!” Dale cried. “He burned his nose.”

  Slade dropped the spoon and ran after his dog. Catching said dog was the challenge. Pistol seemed to think something was chasing him—something other than Slade. He whipped. He flipped. He ran in frenzied circles like a pup chasing its tail. Slade had no idea how bad the burn might be, but he knew treating it quickly would be necessary to prevent blisters.

  Vickie leaped into the fray, and unlike Slade, who was still on his feet, she executed an admirable version of a home base slide on her knees, which enabled her to grab one of Pistol’s back legs. The dog lost his balance and landed on his back.

  “Ice!” Vickie yelled. “A wet rag! Hurry!”

  Slade knelt across from her, the whining dog between them. Men scattered like ants to respond to Vickie’s request. Rex returned first and slapped a wet cloth into her hand. Someone else brought a chunk of ice. She wasted no time in applying the compress to Pistol’s burn. In mid-yelp, the dog quieted and began to emit mournful whimpers.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Vickie crooned. “That feels good. Doesn’t it? Yes, it does. Just lie still. We’ll make it all better.” She glanced up at Rex. “I need a good burn salve with an analgesic.”

  Pistol whimpered but didn’t try to wiggle away. The ice-cold cloth was numbing the pain. With a shudder, he relaxed, allowing Vickie to keep the compress on his nose. She met Slade’s gaze. “In a second, it’ll get so cold that it’ll start to hurt him. That’ll be our cue to stop. We’ll know we’ve drawn out what heat we can. Hopefully it’ll keep the burn from going any deeper.”

  Slade knew all that. Being a full-time rancher and a seasonal outfitter, he had to treat accidental injuries on a fairly frequent basis, and he did a lot of reading to stay abreast of the newest and supposedly best remedies. Recent studies recommended a steady stream of cool water over a burn for twenty minutes as the best treatment, but out in the middle of nowhere, they had no faucet nor an endless supply of stored water. Going with a wet cloth and ice was the next best alternative.

  John arrived with an analgesic ointment. Vickie removed the compress and gently applied the petroleum-based medication to Pistol’s nose. The dog pushed with his feet to move closer to her and soon had his shoulders and head draped over her lap. Memories drifted through Slade’s mind. Vickie had always had a way with animals, domestic or wild, and he could only smile as he watched her now, comforting Pistol with crooning whispers and soothing strokes. The dog had taken an instant liking to her that afternoon, and now he seemed to trust her. It was irksome, and Slade wanted to resent the friendship that Vickie was so quickly forging with his furry friend, but he knew when he could win a battle and when he couldn’t. Vickie sent out signals of some kind to creatures, and they were instinctively drawn to her. He could no more stop that than he could the gravitational pull of the moon from controlling the ocean tides.

  She lifted her luminous gaze to his again. Maybe it was the flattering cast of the fire shine on her face and hair—or maybe it was a glow that radiated from someplace within her—but in that moment, which seemed much longer than it actually was, she was, hands down, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her eyes caught the light like a prism, refracting the color of her irises into a fascinating spectrum of green and gold. Her skin shimmered like a pale pink fire opal. His fingertips tingled with an urge to trace the defined angle of her jaw, which was, he knew, so very fragile compared to his own that he’d always wanted to wrap her in cotton batting. Some things, and to him, Vickie was one of them, were too lovely and precious and rare to put them at risk of being broken.

  Earlier in the day, he’d been terrified by the thought of spending time with her. Terrified that she would step back into his world, fill it with the magic only she could bring, and then break his heart again by walking away. Only now, gazing at her unforgettable countenance, he understood that his heart had never healed and, judging by the chasm of emptiness he felt inside him, he knew it never would. Over the years, he’d tried to fall in love again. He’d dated, enjoyed some great sex, and even signed on a couple of times for a long-term relationship, but in the end, he’d done the talking and his boots had done the walking, because he could never find that same special feeling of magic with any other woman.

  She owned him, heart and soul. She always had, and she always would, and after forty-one years of trying to live without her, he accepted that there was absolutely nothing he could do about that. He’d been only seven years old when he first clapped eyes on her, a tiny little girl in homemade jeans and a T-shirt, the only big things about her being her hair and eyes. Her mother had tried to tame her curls by plaiting them into pigtails, but fiery tendrils had resisted capture and sprung in all directions from her head like dozens of corkscrews. Slade knew he’d been far too young back then to fall in love, but as inexplicable as it was, he somehow had, and he’d been under her spell ever since.

  “He’s a wonderful dog,” she said softly. “What’s his breed? If I change my mind about getting a pup, I wouldn’t mind having one just like him.”

  “He’s just a mutt,” Slade told her. “A little of this and a little of that. Jack Palmer says he’s part Rottweiler, part Australian shepherd, and possibly part border collie.”

  “Jack Palmer? I don’t remember him.”

  “New vet in town. Well, new to you, anyway. He’s been here a long time, eight years, maybe ten. Good man, great doctor.”

  She continued to glide her hands over Pistol’s fur, and the canine appeared to be sound asleep. “After losing Renegade, you said you’d never get another dog. I’m glad you didn’t keep that vow.”

  Slade leaned forward to pet the animal, and Pistol whined as if to acknowledge his touch. “I didn’t have much to say about it, actually. He appeared on my porch, the skinniest, filthiest, and most matted excuse for a dog that you’ve ever seen. I didn’t want him. Decided I’d call Animal Control. But in the end, I just couldn’t do it. Now I wouldn’t change that for anything. He’s a great dog, one of the best.”

  “Do you still miss Renny?” she asked.

  Slade made another pass with his hand over Pistol’s side. “For years, I did. He left a huge hole in my life and hundreds of wonderful memories.” He looked into her shimmering green eyes. “I held those memories close. Sometimes that’s all we have left, the memories.”

  She nodded and her eyes grew suspiciously bright. “Has Pistol filled up that huge hole Renny left inside you?”

  “No. That would be saying that he replaced Renny, and that isn’t true. Dogs are very like people, special in their own way and absolutely unique in looks and personality. No other dog can ever take Renegade’s place.” He forced a smile. “Pistol took my world by storm, and he’s wallowing out his own hole in my heart. If I outlive him, I’ll one day bury him next to Renny under the old oak tree, and I’ll feel like I’m going to die of grief. But I won’t, because life isn’t that easy.”

  “No,” she agreed, carefully lifting the dog’s head from her knees onto the ground. “Nothing about life is easy.” She met and held his gaze. “Nothing about love is easy, either.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Vickie was so edgy that she could barely eat any of the chili Slade had served her on a paper plate. Less than fifty yards from the central fire, a pair of glowing green eyes stared at them from the woods, but so far, no one had noticed but her. She tried to think how anyone could not notice as she chased beans and clumps of beef with a spoon, scooped up a small bite, and then dumped it out.

  “You’re not eating much.”

  Vickie glanced up at Dale, who stood beside her. At any other time, she would have been enjoying the food, the company, and the evening. She’d taken her kids camping often as they were growing up, attempting to expose them to some of the same experiences that she’d had as a child, but they were all adults now, and she hadn’t been
out in the woods in what felt like forever. The scents alone were intoxicating to her and so long missed that she kept taking deep breaths through her nose to savor them. The sharp, clean smell of pine, the minty traces of sage, a faint sweetness from the abundant growth of manzanita on the hillsides, and the wonderful odor of wood smoke. All of them delighted her. With the bouquet of her childhood surrounding her, she felt as if she’d found heaven on earth, but with those glowing orbs staring at them from the undergrowth beneath the ponderosa pines, she was also experiencing a certain measure of hellish suspense.

  “I’m just tired,” she told Dale. “It was a long ride up, and I drove over from the coast this morning as well. It wore me out.”

  “That does make for a long day,” Dale replied. “A good night’s rest will set you right.”

  “I’m sure it will, and thanks to you, I should sleep like a bug in a rug. My tent is so warm and cozy. I expected to be sleeping on the ground, so I’m grateful for the cot. I put my gel mattress pad on top of it and lay down to try it out. It’s almost as comfortable as my bed at home.”

  “Awesome! I should get a gel pad.”

  A voice boomed from somewhere outside of camp, making Vickie jump with a start. “Hello, camp!”

  Dale turned to stare into the darkness and reached high with one hand to wave. “That’s Wyatt, Slade’s foreman.”

  Half-blinded by the firelight, Vickie squinted to see. “It looks like three riders, maybe more.”

  “Wyatt’s brother, Kennedy, and Tex,” Dale told her. “They’re bringing in supplies, mostly food. We’ll be stepping pretty until bedtime, getting everything put away.”

  Vickie almost groaned. She truly was tired and didn’t want to be on her feet until the wee hours. Unfortunately, she was the cook, and the arrival of food meant that she would have to be involved in its storage. Otherwise she wouldn’t be sure where anything was when it came time for her to cook, and that would be a pain in the neck.

  Alerted to the arrival of supplies, the men around her made fast work of shoveling their plates clean. Flares of bright yellow shot up from the fire as paper dinnerware was tossed, Frisbee-style, into the flames. Pistol, who seemed to have recovered from his burn, gave a glad bark, and an instant later, he was rolling over the ground in playful combat with a gorgeous border collie that someone called Domino. Vickie liked the name, which suited the black and white collie perfectly. Unfortunately, in all the confusion, she doubted that anyone was going to notice the eyes that she’d planted at the edge of camp. That was a shame, because her daughter waited on tenterhooks to receive texts about how the prank played out with the men. Vickie anticipated that she’d be sending a very boring account. Not even Slade, whom she knew was an extraordinary woodsman, had seen those green orbs.

  Laughter tried to bubble up in her throat, because the entire situation struck her as being beyond bizarre. She was surrounded by men who claimed to be professional wilderness guides. They led greenhorns, who trusted them with their lives, into rugged and treacherous terrain, and yet not a man among them was watchful enough to be aware that something big and scary stood in the brush, studying them like a hungry diner did a menu.

  The three human newcomers stepped into the fire glow, giving her an opportunity to look them over. Wyatt and Kennedy were tall, strapping young men who greatly resembled each other with their chiseled features, burnished skin, and straight golden hair. Tex, a short, wiry man of about seventy, looked like a dwarf standing between them.

  “Dinner is meager tonight, only hot chili,” Vickie told them. “We’ve plenty, though. Would you like me to dish you some up?”

  Kennedy grinned at her. “I’m so hungry I could eat the south end of a northbound jackass, but we’ll wait to eat until we get the horses taken care of.”

  Vickie took an instant liking to this young fellow. It wasn’t often that someone his age put the needs and comfort of animals before his own. With a last glance toward the woods, where those eyes still shone like green marbles, she tossed her still-laden plate into the fire and walked out to join the men, who were already removing packs from the backs of the horses.

  * * *

  • • •

  Three hours later, Vickie felt like a dishrag that had been wrung out repeatedly by strong hands. She had no idea what time it was. Her nostalgic musings about Slade had faded completely from her mind. She was so exhausted that she no longer cared about the absolute failure of her practical joke or how long a glow stick lasted. She was done, finished, and going straight to bed.

  As she trudged toward her tent, she did remember the green eyes, however, and stopped to look out into the woods and at least admire them one more time before she fell onto her cot and passed out. When she drew to a halt, she stood about twenty feet from the doorway of her shelter. Never having expected to be gone so long, she’d only rolled down the wick of her lantern and hadn’t extinguished it, so the canvas walls glowed faintly yellow and reached out into the darkness with fingers of light. With little difficulty, she located those eerie glowing eyes. Even though she’d totally failed in her mission, which had been to give all those men the heebie-jeebies, especially Slade, she patted herself on the back for how realistic they looked. The shape as well as the space between the eyes was almost perfect to make someone believe it was a bear. She grinned and sighed, thinking what a shame it was that all her efforts had gone unnoticed. Sadly, it wasn’t a joke she could repeat unless she could find another glow stick in Mystic Creek.

  She was about to start walking again when she thought she saw one of the eyes blink. She froze in place. Now the green orbs were just staring at her again, as well they should, because they were fake animal eyes, created with a paper towel roll, a knife, and a party stick. But then, even as she stared, the same eye appeared to blink again. An icy shudder crawled up her spine. Okay, Vickie, don’t be a numskull. There’s a light breeze. The bushes may be moving, and if leaves get between you and one of the holes, of course it will look more like a real bear. Amused at herself for feeling nervous, she started to smile, a gesture that she abandoned when it struck her that the location of the eyes seemed to be slightly off. She’d placed them in an almost direct line with the campfire so the men would be sure to see them, and now she was off to one side of the leaping flames.

  She shifted her gaze to the left, saw another set of eyes, and nearly wet her pants. Shit. There really was a bear standing in the trees, and it wasn’t that far away from her. Over her lifetime, Vickie had seen countless black bears in the wild. At around the age of nineteen, she’d even bottle-fed an orphaned cub until her father had found a rescue shelter that would take it. So, she wasn’t really afraid of bears, but she did have a very healthy respect for them.

  And this bear was behaving oddly. It was in way too close to the camp, apparently had no fear of humans, and—she peered into the blackness—now it was moving toward her. A scream welled in her throat, but rather than waste time allowing it to pierce the night air, she broke into a run for her tent. The moment she dashed inside, she turned to secure the flap, and immediately abandoned the task because a chilling realization slipped past the panic she felt. A rectangle of canvas fastened shut with flimsy ties wouldn’t keep a chipmunk out, let alone a black bear.

  She scrambled across the small enclosure, jerked open her duffel bag, and began rifling through the contents to find her handgun, a trusty nine-millimeter, which could conceivably drop an adult black bear if the shot was well-placed. As she jerked things from the bag, her hand finally located the weapon, which she had unloaded for safety reasons before leaving Coos Bay. A loaded gun bouncing around in a duffel bag was, in her opinion, a recipe for disaster.

  She groped frantically for the zip-up sandwich bag that she’d put the cartridges in that morning. Oh, God, oh, God. Had Nancy forgotten to pack it for her? She could hear the animal outside. Where the hell was her ammo? She heard a low rumble. Then there ca
me a swishing sound as something big and hairy brushed against a canvas wall. Oh, God, oh, God. Black bears weren’t renowned for harming humans, she reminded herself. Most attacks occurred when people got between a sow and her cubs. So it was highly unlikely that this particular bear would try to enter her tent. The scent of food might tempt one into doing something outrageous, but she had nothing in the shelter that a bear would want.

  Then she heard it at the door flap. She twisted around on her knees, clasped the useless gun in her violently shaking hands, and took aim, praying this particular bear knew what weapons were and was afraid of them. Her heart nearly stopped when a huge blond paw pushed through the slit and curled over the panel of canvas. Blond? The majority of black bears were dark brown or nearly black. She knew blond ones existed, but in all her years of being in these mountains, she’d never seen one. Was it possible that grizzlies had migrated into eastern and central Oregon? Blond or light brown coloring was more prevalent in that species. She’d been living elsewhere for over forty years. Things changed. Wolves now existed in this state. Why not grizzlies? It wasn’t as if she exhaustively read outdoor publications to keep herself informed.

  Just then, that side of the flap parted from the canvas wall, and the massive head of a bear poked through the opening. Vickie took aim with the gun, drew a steady bead, and said, in a tremulous squeak, “Go away, bear. Go away!”

  In response, the animal opened its mouth, displaying evil-looking teeth, and roared at her. Vickie pulled the trigger, heard the useless click of the firing mechanism, and wet her pants.

  * * *

  • • •

  Slade had both boots off and one leg halfway out of his jeans when a piercing scream rent the night air. Vickie. She was the only female in camp. His heart jerked and shot up into his throat. Shit. Vickie wasn’t a screamer. Not like other women he’d known, who saw a mouse or shrew and went into shriek mode, stomping their feet in place, grabbing handfuls of their hair, and pretty much just acting crazy. For Vickie to scream like that, something really bad had to be going down.