Wild Card

by Karina Halle

  Whether she means coming along on the ride or coming to North Ridge in general, I don’t know. All the options hurt.

  We ride for the next few hours in silence, the air heavy and thick with tension that neither of us seem to shake. Even the horses are on edge, their ears flicking back and forth, giving nervous snorts.

  As we approach September, the days are getting shorter. It’s seven o’clock and the sun will be going down in an hour or so. I’ve seen signs of the herd but haven’t actually seen them and it looks like we’ll be spending the night.

  One long, awkward night, I’m betting. I only have one sleeping bag. Seemed like a good idea a few hours ago.

  “We’ll ride for a bit more,” I tell Rachel as we skirt alongside a green lake, a forest of pine on the other side. The elevation here is higher and there’s a bit of bite to the air. “Then set up camp.”

  I can tell she’s nervous about the whole thing and I don’t think it has to do with being alone with me. I’m not sure if she’s ever been out in the wilderness overnight. For me, it’s pretty much second nature.

  “I need to go pee,” she says, pulling up Sybil to a halt and looking around. In front of us a patch of alder and shrubs lead into the hill of pine.

  “I promise I won’t look,” I tell her, ready to shield my eyes.

  But she dismounts and fishes some toilet paper out of the saddle bag I’d given her and heads out into the trees, not even looking my way. I don’t know how she’s still mad at me or even what for but time doesn’t seem to be helping.

  I watch her disappear and look around. This isn’t a bad spot to camp but I don’t like the proximity to the forest. I’d rather keep riding and find another spot, maybe beside a creek so the horses have access to water, some place open so I can see from all angles. It’s not going to rain, so we just need a place to tie up the horses and some flat ground to spread the sleeping bag on and that’s about it.

  I actually love camping under the stars. Sometimes I go on overnights just by myself. Usually there’s a purpose to them, like traveling to other ranch lands to meet with ranchers or just driving cows or checking fences and making repairs, but I’m always the one going. There’s something about lying beneath a blanket of stars, far from the comforts of home, that makes you feel immensely connected to the land. It’s that connection that keeps the love of the job going.

  Polly shifts nervously underneath me, her ears flicking back and forth. Sybil does the same. Fletcher is looking alert in the direction of where Rachel disappeared.

  A coldness builds in my chest and I straighten up, instinctively reaching for my shotgun at the back of my saddle. “Rachel?” I say loudly. “You doing okay?”

  I wait, listen.

  I hear nothing.

  Then rustling.

  Unease trickles through me.

  “Rachel!” I yell. My hand grasps the gun and I carefully bring it forward.

  No answer.

  I look at Fletcher. “Go find Rachel,” I tell him urgently.

  He springs into action, trotting off into the forest until I can’t see him either.

  Something isn’t right.

  No, not right at all.

  Sybil’s head suddenly lifts and she starts backing up, as does Polly, spooked as fucked.

  Fletcher starts barking and barking like crazy from somewhere in the trees.

  A heavy rustling follows.

  “Rachel!” I yell, ready to jump off.

  Then, a growl.

  No, a roar.

  It makes all my hair stand on end, freezing me on the spot.

  There’s a rapid onslaught of sounds.

  Fletcher barks, growls, snaps.

  And something large and menacing growls back, a low, guttural cry that nearly shakes the ground.

  Sybil rears.

  I keep Polly in place.

  Fletcher keeps barking, twigs and branches snap.

  So do jaws.

  Snarls.

  Another roar and then Fletcher’s high-pitched howl, a cry of absolute pain.

  Fucking hell, not Fletcher. Not my dog.

  “Rachel!” I yell. “Fletcher!”

  There are no more barks.

  The trees start moving.

  The ground is shaking.

  Yards ahead, a mammoth-sized grizzly bear comes thundering out of the trees, a big, scary fucker that comes to a stop a yard away, dirt flying around his massive body.

  Sybil pulls her reins out of my grasp and gallops away and Polly wants to do the same, even though a grizzly bear can run as fast as racehorse for short distances and there’s no doubt he would charge and bring us both down. I do what I can to keep Polly in place because I’m not fucking leaving Rachel or my dog behind.

  I aim the shotgun at the bear, trying to keep calm, keep steady.

  The bear opens his mouth in a deafening roar, showing off a pink mouth, rows of sharp teeth, then rises up on his hind legs so he’s a beast of eight feet tall.

  Jesus.

  It’s the most horrifying and majestic sight I’ve ever seen. A true testament to power, to nature, to the wild.

  And it can so easily kill me.

  I keep the shotgun trained on his head, ready to pull the trigger.

  I don’t want to. And I know that even with a shotgun blast to the head, grizzlies don’t always die on the spot and the chances of me taking him out before he can get to me are slim.

  But so help me God, if he did anything to Rachel, I will blast his fucking brains out.

  My finger touches the trigger but doesn’t pull it, Polly dancing back and forth beneath me as I try to keep the grizzly in my sights. The panic inside me wants to well up and scream but I can’t pay it attention, can’t feed it, I push it down and act instinctively. Having the gun in my hands like this brings me right back into the Waters’ kitchen, pointing it at Errol.

  I stare at the bear. Deep brown eyes.

  The bear stares back at me.

  I might see my whole life in that look. Gone in a horrible flash.

  The moment stretches forever and all that loss knocks at my door.

  But this wasn’t like facing off with Errol.

  This is something else entirely.

  I take a deep breath.

  Prepared. Determined. And ultimately torn.

  Yet I will do what I have to do.

  But, it changes. The bear lowers himself to the ground, huffing and slapping the earth with its paws, its long black claws raking the dirt before it gives another low growl.

  And then, with a shake of its head, it lumbers off in the opposite direction along the lake, disappearing around the bend of the hill.

  Gone.

  I exhale and eventually lower the gun. Then as the reality comes back, I’m shaking, the adrenaline and fear ravaging through me.

  “Rachel!” I scream and jump off Polly, running into the forest with the gun.

  I look around, yelling her name over and over again but she’s nowhere to be found.

  Then there’s a bark.

  I whip around to see Fletcher limping toward me, tongue hanging out.

  “Fletcher!” I cry out, dropping to my knees to examine him. I was so certain he was dead. Miraculously, he isn’t that hurt. He’s limping and the fur at the back of his neck is wet with saliva and blood and there’s a small wound but that’s about it. My guess is he attacked the bear and the bear got him by the back of the neck and threw him off. It could have been so much worse.

  I stand back up, cupping my hands over my mouth, trying to ignore that panic but fuck it’s going to kill me. “Rachel!” I yell. “Can you hear me! Please?”

  I look down at Fletcher. “Where is she? Where is Rachel?”

  Fletcher whines and I’m not sure he understands but when I ask again, keeping my voice as steady as possible, he gets my intentions.

  He lopes a bit further into the brush and I follow until he stops at the base of a tree.

  And looks up.

  16 />
  Rachel

  Help, help, help.

  The words repeat over and over, screaming inside my head.

  Help, help, help.

  I don’t want to die.

  Not now, not now. Not when I haven’t really lived.

  I haven’t really lived.

  I haven’t really lived.

  Help, help, help.

  My arms are numb, my legs too, everything. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay up here, holding onto the tree trunk. Or maybe I’m forever molded to it, like moss. Maybe I’ll never come back down.

  My mind shifts back in time.

  Me lying on my back amongst the hay.

  Shane devouring me.

  Against my better judgement, I opened my legs and let him in.

  I let myself be vulnerable again, only for him.

  And it was at that moment I realized I was alive.

  He was trying to bring me back to life.

  And it scared the shit out of me.

  To open that door and stick my neck out and hope for the fucking best.

  But I was alive.

  And now I’m in a fucking pine tree, my limbs scraped and bleeding from the hasty climb and I’m wondering why I was so afraid to be alive when the alternative is so much worse.

  “Rachel!” Shane’s voice cuts through my head.

  It’s real, I have to tell myself. He’s real. The bear has to be gone by now.

  When I went into the forest to do my business, a bear was the last thing I expected to see. To be honest, I just wanted time away from Shane. To prepare for the night ahead, to grapple with the things I’d said earlier. The mean way they left my lips. I hurt him. It hurt me.

  But there it was.

  The grizzly.

  It hadn’t seen me yet.

  I didn’t know what to do. I thought that unlike black bears, grizzlies can’t climb trees and I knew that if I ran for Shane or called for Shane, I would be fucking dead.

  So I went for the nearest tree and climbed and didn’t look back.

  Except when I did, the fucking bear was trying to climb too.

  So much for that myth.

  And then Fletcher came bounding toward the bear and I closed my eyes, not wanting to watch. The poor dog bought me time and I climbed up a few more branches until I saw him grab Fletcher by the neck and throw him where I couldn’t see. The sound of the dog’s yelp burrowing into my brain. Then the bear ran off.

  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry.

  I could do nothing but do what I’m doing right now.

  Hold on tight and pray.

  Help, help, help.

  “Rachel,” I hear Shane’s voice again and I know I have to move, to say something, but I’m so fucking scared.

  I manage to move my head and look down through the branches, the bottom ones broken off by the grizzly. It’s left deep grooves in the bark from its claws.

  Shane and Fletcher stare up at me.

  “Rachel,” he says again, his voice lower. “Are you okay?”

  I can’t speak.

  “Please, come down. It’s not safe to stay up there. We need to keep moving.” His voice is pleading yet so calm, like he’s got control of the entire situation. “Please. Nothing is going to happen to you. I’ve got you.”

  And that’s all it takes. His words sink in. He means them. He always has been my protector. I’ve never not been safe in his arms.

  “Okay,” I whisper and after a long moment I slowly start making my way down the tree, my muscles cramping as I go.

  I have to jump the last bit and he catches me, arms strong and warm, immovable.

  “Shane,” I cry out, holding onto him, so fucking terrified. “Oh god.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, his hand cupping the back of my head as my legs wrap around his waist. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting you go. Not again.”

  I don’t know how I manage to keep it together. I just want to cry and scream at everything, the fear of death still lingering. I want to unravel, completely, and I know if I do, he’s going to have a hell of a time putting me back together.

  So I hold on and then I let go.

  I’m lowered to the ground and he takes my hand and with his shotgun in the other, that shotgun that changed everything, he leads me out of the forest and back to the horses.

  Of course, Sybil is long gone but somehow Polly is still around, standing nearby, ears flicking back and forth. She snorts softly when she sees Shane, relaxing visibly when she realizes she’s safe. He has the same power over her as he does over me.

  We’re too close to the bear’s territory, so he puts me up in the saddle and then leads us away, Fletcher limping at his side but otherwise alert.

  We walk into the setting sun and it might be the most brilliant sunset I’ve ever seen. Each wash of gold, purple, pink, orange looks like strokes of watercolor paint, constantly changing, thickening, fading. Everything looks more alive.

  You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive, I tell myself. And then I don’t have to tell myself because I feel it.

  When dusk settles in, purple-grey, we stop. A small creek runs past and Polly and Fletcher have a long drink. I stay up on Polly’s back, watching in silence as Shane takes off the saddle bag and starts to set up camp beside a stand of four ponderosa pines. Beyond it, the mountains rise up higher and higher. I have no idea where I am but I don’t think it matters.

  Shane works quickly and with ease. Every movement is natural to him. He’s part of this earth, breathing in the same heartbeat. There’s something almost magical about him, otherworldly. I think about what he did for me, even though it broke me, he did it for me. He wanted nothing more than to protect me because he loved me so much.

  And I was so lucky to have his love. No one else did. It was mine to hold, to nurture, to take care of. He trusted me with his heart and I trusted him with mine.

  In the end, he never broke that trust. Not really. Just on the surface. But underneath, where the truth lies, that trust never wavered.

  His love never wavered.

  “Shane,” I whisper to him.

  He looks up at me. Even in the hazy twilight, I can see him perfectly. The way his sweat makes his olive shirt cling to his muscles, the tawny gold of his skin, the longing in his eyes as they fix on me.

  And yet he knows what I want.

  What I need.

  He’s all I need.

  He puts down the sleeping bag and walks over to me. Grabs me by the waist and lifts me off the horse until my feet are firmly on the ground. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to.

  He bends down and kisses me. One hand at the back of my neck, sweetly possessive, telling me I’m his. That I need to be his.

  His lips move against mine, soft and tender, building slowly until my mouth matches his. I feel the kiss all the way in my toes, the way he holds me, the way his tongue slides against mine, stoking a fire. My nerves fizzle and snap and with each second we become more in-sync with each other. It feels right. So right.

  "Shane," I whisper against his mouth and he takes my lower lip in his teeth, tugs, then runs his tongue inside the rim. Shivers explode along my spine like a row of roman candles.

  "Shhhh," he says to me, his hands, large, wonderful hands, hands that love, hands that protect, they glide down over my body like he's sculpting me, relishing the curves, the way I flow. One hand goes under my top, sliding up against my skin and I'm melting all over again. It's like last night but I'm not going to stop it this time, not going to pull away. His touch, his kiss, he's bringing me back from the past and becoming my future.

  I let out a small moan as his rough palm goes over my breast, pulling down the edge of my lacy bra until he brushes against my nipple. More fireworks radiate outward, a small but powerful heat that I know is taking over me, second by second.

  He tugs at the edge of my shirt and pulls it up over my head, throwing it on the ground beside us. His eyes meet mine and I only see
a fevered, burning want in them, like he’s lost to his own desire. He gazes down at my breasts, taking a moment to hold them with his eyes, then swiftly undoes my bra until it drops at my feet. My nipples harden in the air.

  "You're so fucking gorgeous," he says, sounding awestruck, as if he's witnessing something transcendent. It makes me feel like a fucking queen on a throne, a ruler with only one subject. He runs his hands up and down over my sides, trying to memorize me, skin remembering skin.

  And I remember him. His touch that could always set me free. It hasn't changed. We both have in small ways but the way our bodies respond to each other hasn't.

  Then he dips his head, gripping my breasts, eyes on me as he licks and sucks, tongue flat and teasing. I keep his carnal gaze until my eyes pinch shut with pleasure and I cry out, my fingers threading through his silky hair. “Don’t stop,” I manage to say, my words floating on the air.

  But he does stop.

  He pulls back and stares at me, raw determination on his brow, his eyes stealing my breath away.

  Look at how he looks at me. The way he sees me. No one else ever saw me like this.

  “Rachel,” he says, voice low, rich, deep, a whisky-voice that intoxicates my blood. “If you don’t want me to stop…I won’t stop. I promise you I won’t stop until I’ve given all I have to you.” I watch his Adam’s apple as he swallows, my eyes drinking in the thickness of his neck, his broad shoulders, the veins and muscles on his biceps, forearms, hands that give and give.

  He is so beautiful.

  And he’s mine.

  It’s time to let go of the past. It’s time to move forward. Just for these minutes. If not just for tonight.

  I’m Rachel and he’s Shane and we go together, fit together, because we always have. We worked then and we work in the here and now.

  This needs to happen.

  It needs to happen like we both need the air we breathe.

  It’s been building, twisting, turning to this moment for far too fucking long.

  I stare at him and without breaking our gaze, I take off my boots, socks, jeans, underwear, until I’m standing naked in front of him. It doesn’t matter that my bare feet are in dirt, that there’s a horse behind us, that we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.