Phantom Waltz

by Catherine Anderson

  “What? You think a black bear killed ten cows? That’s crazy, Ryan. Black bears don’t do that. A grizzly, maybe, but not an Oregon black bear.”

  The hair on Ryan’s nape started to prickle again. “He’s a big old boy. People go berserk. Why not a black bear?” He leaned his rifle against the tree beside her. “You as good with a pump action as you are with a revolver?”

  She was looking over her shoulder at the hillsides. “It’s been a long time. I used to be a fair shot with a rifle. No guarantee I can hit anything now.”

  Ryan nodded toward the weapon. “Keep your eyes peeled while I saddle Wink. We’re getting out of here.” He glanced at the basket. She’d lain the pistol and holster on the closed end. “Get that salami sealed up in a container. A bear can smell food for a mighty long way. I don’t want him coming in on us.”

  Ryan hurriedly saddled Wink. When he went back to get Bethany, he had to smile. She was doing exactly as he had asked, keeping her eyes glued to the hillsides, one hand curled loosely over the rifle stock in case she had to shoot. She might not be able to walk, Ryan thought, but there was no one on earth he would have trusted more to guard his back.

  He bent to lift her from the chair. “I’ll get you in the saddle, then come back for the rifle and other stuff.”

  She hugged his neck as he carried her toward her horse. “You’re really worried.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ryan admitted. “It made my blood run cold and scared the hell out of me. The whole way back here, I was praying you were safe.”

  “Oh, Ryan. I had the .22. I was fine.”

  He narrowed an eye at her. “That pistol wouldn’t have stopped that big old boy. Trust me on—”

  “Mrrrhaw!”

  The sound came from behind them. Only halfway to the horses, Ryan whirled to see what in the hell it was. When he saw the bear charging across the flat toward them, his heart stuttered to a stop and felt as if it just hung in his chest like a chunk of ice. The animal was huge, and it ran with incredible speed—its fat and fur jolting with every impact of its paws on the earth.

  “Mrrrhaw!”

  “Oh, my God,” Bethany cried. “Oh, my God!”

  Ryan glanced frantically at the rifle leaning against the pine only a few feet away where he’d left it in order to carry Bethany. If he put her down, he might be able to reach the weapon before the bear caught him. Big problem. There was every chance the animal would stay on course, charging blindly. If so, it would be on Bethany before Ryan could get off a shot. There might also be lag time after he fired. Bears were notorious for taking lead and not going down immediately.

  Bethany could be killed.

  Ryan had to make a decision, and the way he saw it, he had no real choice. He lay Bethany on the grass right where they were and faced the bear without a weapon.

  In those split seconds before the huge animal reached them, his mind spun with disjointed bits of information he’d heard over the years about charging black bears, the most pertinent being that they would sometimes back down if you made yourself look as large as possible and behaved aggressively. He put himself between Bethany and the bear, flung his arms wide, and yelled as loudly as he could. But the bear kept coming.

  “Get out of here!” Ryan yelled again. This time he took a couple of steps forward, wondering even as he did if he’d totally lost his mind. “Rrrhaw!” he cried, trying to emulate the bear’s ferocious growl.

  “Ryan!” Bethany screamed. “Run! Get away!”

  The bear was on him then. Ryan felt as if a locomotive plowed into him. His feet came clear off the ground, and both he and the bear went airborne. Dimly he could hear Bethany screaming. Pain. His mind washed red with it.

  “The rifle!” he managed to yell. “Sweet Christ, the rifle!”

  All Ryan’s life, he’d been told to play dead in the event of a bear attack. He felt the son of a bitch biting his hip. Felt his bones splintering like chalk under the force of its jaws. How could a man play dead when his body was exploding with such agony? Ryan screamed. There was no holding it back. He screamed as if he were on a torture rack and being ripped apart.

  Perhaps he was being ripped apart … Pictures flashed through his mind of the mangled cows. Bethany. The bear would go for her next. Blind with pain, Ryan forced his body to go limp and rolled onto his stomach, groping for the knife scabbard on his belt. It would be a little like jabbing a hippo with a toothpick, but it was the only weapon he had.

  The rifle. The rifle. The rifle.

  Bethany dragged herself toward the tree, her gaze fixed on the weapon. She heard Ryan screaming. Oh, God. He could have saved himself by running for the gun. But, no. He’d stepped between her and the bear, and now—oh, God—oh, God—now he was dying for her.

  No, no, no, no, noooo! She clawed wildly at the grass, dragging herself over the ground one agonizingly slow inch at a time. Useless. She was absolutely useless. Dying. Ryan was dying. And she was inching along like a slug on her belly, unable to do anything to help him.

  When she finally reached the tree, Bethany felt as if a thousand eternities had passed. She grabbed the gun, managed to sit up, and braced her back against the trunk. Breathing in … breathing out. The sound of her lungs echoed against her eardrums. Every swish of her blood was an explosion inside her brain. Ryan. She flicked the rifle off safety, jacked in a shell, and threw the butt to her shoulder.

  The bear was mauling Ryan. Tossing him around as if he were a rag doll. Every time Bethany started to shoot, she lost her nerve, terrified she might hit Ryan. Please, God. She needed a clear shot.

  It never came. The bear was in a frenzy. Bethany realized she absolutely had to shoot. She got a bead on the bear, refusing to think about Ryan getting in her line of fire. She hauled in a breath, held it, and squeezed the trigger. Kaboom. The kick of the rifle slammed her spine against the tree trunk.

  The bear screamed in rage and turned toward her, going up on its back legs. Mrrrhaw! The cry was horrible and sounded almost human. Bethany jacked in another shell, sighted in. Before she could fire, the bear took off at a dead run.

  Sobbing and calling Ryan’s name, Bethany dragged herself toward him. Blood. Oh, dear God. She’d never seen so much blood. He was surely dead. She pushed the rifle ahead of her over the ground, knowing she’d need the weapon if the bear circled back. Ryan. She loved him so much. Please, God. He couldn’t be dead.

  When she finally reached him, he mumbled something and opened his eyes. Blue spheres, surrounded by crimson streaks. He smiled at her. “You hit the son of a bitch?”

  “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “Oh, my God, Ryan. You’re hurt. You’re badly hurt.”

  “No shit. He got my hip.” He blinked and stared hard at her for a moment. “Bethany, I’m—” His throat worked. “Keep the gun close, darlin’. Don’t let the bastard hurt you.”

  That was all he said, and then he lost consciousness.

  Praying mindlessly, Bethany managed to sit up. She began checking Ryan, knowing she had to find the worst of his injuries and somehow stop the bleeding. She looked at his hip first. Nearly vomited. Started to cry, then gave herself a hard mental slap. No hysterics. She had to keep her head. Do what had to be done.

  She ripped off her shoes to get at her socks. Then she peeled off her blouse and bra. Padding. She had to pad the wounds and tightly wrap them to staunch the bleeding.

  While she worked, she prayed, bargaining mindlessly with God. Just please let him live, and I swear, I’ll never come out like this again. My fault. I had no business coming with him into a wilderness area. He would have run for the rifle if it hadn’t been for me. Please, just let him live. Please, please, please.

  When she’d done all she could to stop the bleeding, Bethany tugged the cell phone from his belt. She almost lost it when she saw that the case had been crushed. The bear had mangled it while biting Ryan’s hip. She tried to dial out anyway. The phone didn’t work. It was as useless as she was.

 
No time to blubber. She had to get help. Use her head. She gazed at the horses. There was no way she could get on one of the animals by herself, let alone lift a wounded man onto a saddle. But those horses were still their only hope.

  Keeping the rifle with her, just as Ryan had told her to do, Bethany dragged herself toward their mounts. All three animals were terrified and pranced nervously. As she got closer, she stared at their hooves, praying they wouldn’t trample her. No matter. She had to get help up here for Ryan. He’d die if she didn’t.

  Bucky was their best chance, Bethany decided. The pack-horse was too loaded down to make good time, and Wink hadn’t been on the Rocking K very long. Bucky had probably covered these mountain trails with Ryan many a time, and if set free, he’d know the way home.

  Miraculously the gelding stopped prancing the instant Bethany got close to his hooves. Tears nearly blinded her. “You’re a good boy,” she told him shakily. Before she untied the horse’s reins, Bethany sat up and rubbed her bloody arms on his chest, praying whoever found the horse would notice the smears of crimson on his sorrel coat. “I need you to go home, Bucky. Run as fast as you can, boy. Go home.”

  She jerked his reins free from the stump.

  “Go!” she yelled. “Ha! Ha! Out of here. Go on!” She slapped the gelding’s chest. “Ha, I said!”

  Already terrified from the recent bear attack, the horse was skittish anyway, and that was all it took. He wheeled and bolted. As she gazed after the gelding, Bethany sent up a silent prayer that Bucky would head straight for the ranch and that someone would be over at Ryan’s place to see him when he got there.

  The instant Sly saw Ryan’s horse come wandering into the stable without a rider, he knew something was wrong. He immediately contacted Rafe.

  “We got trouble, son. You best get over here.”

  Rafe was there within five minutes. He looked Bucky over, saw what appeared to be blood on the horse’s chest, and swore under his breath. “Something happened. One of them is badly hurt.”

  Sly had already deduced that much and had started saddling horses. “You want I should call Bethany’s brothers? We’re gonna need all the men we can get if we gotta track ’em.”

  Rafe nodded. “I’ll call them, Sly. If you’d finish getting the horses saddled, I’d much appreciate it.”

  “How many?” Sly asked as Rafe turned toward the stable office.

  “She’s got three brothers living here in town. My guess is they’ll all come. Five mounts for us, I reckon, and a spare for Ryan, since his is here.” Rafe stopped and sent Sly a hollow-eyed look. “Just pray to God he’s alive to need a horse. That’s a lot of blood on Bucky.”

  “Think positive, son. Ryan’s a smart boy. Knows them mountains like the palms of his hands. He’s okay.”

  Rafe nodded and opened the door to the office.

  The howls of coyotes weren’t so beautiful when you were alone in the dark, praying with every breath that the man you loved could hang onto life a while longer. Bethany sat with Ryan’s head on her lap. He had regained consciousness a few times. Only briefly. A few lucid moments to break up an eternity of aloneness …

  Each time, all he seemed concerned about was her.

  “Bethany,” he croaked the first time. “Honey, keep the rifle close and don’t go to sleep. One bullet probably didn’t kill the bastard, and he may come back.”

  “I won’t sleep, Ryan. Don’t worry. I promise you, I won’t sleep.”

  He slipped away from her again. The second time he awoke, he seemed calmer. Or was it only that he was weaker? Bethany’s heart twisted, and she wanted to cry as she looked into his shimmering eyes.

  “There’s a song,” he whispered. “Garth Brooks, I think. A man wondering if she knows—wondering if he’s done enough.”

  Bethany touched her fingers to his lips and sobbed, unable to imagine what a song had to do with anything. “Save your strength. Don’t try to talk.”

  “Got to. Important.” He gulped and stared at the sky. “If I don’t wake up, I need to know that you know.”

  “Know what?”

  “How much I—” He closed his eyes. “How much I love you.”

  He passed out again then. Bethany sobbed and hugged him close, rocking wildly. “I know, Ryan. How could I not? I know …”

  The next time he regained consciousness, he said, “They’ll circle back. Sometimes, they circle back. Keep the gun close and the safety off.”

  “I will. It’s right here beside me. I’ll shoot the son of a bitch. Trust me.”

  His teeth flashed in a weak grin, his face pallid and eerie looking in the moonlight, streaked with dry blood. “I’ve never heard you cuss. I’ll be damned.”

  “Right now, I could teach you a few dirty words.”

  He smiled again. “You already taught me a lot, darlin’.” He gazed up at her. Then his eyes seemed to lose focus. “It’s been good,” he whispered. “It was—everything. Understand?”

  She nodded. “I know, Ryan. I know how much you love me. Almost as much as I love you, I think.”

  His face contorted with pain. His lashes fluttered closed. “Bethany?” he whispered weakly.

  “What?” she squeezed out.

  “I don’t think—” He gulped and grabbed for a painful breath. “I don’t think I can hold on much longer.”

  “I’ll hold on for you. Rest, Ryan. I love you so. You can’t leave me.”

  The next time he came to, he was weaker. He wasted no time on unnecessary words. “Rafe. My folks. You tell them. We made vows. I want you to have the place.”

  As if she cared. Tears streamed down Bethany’s cheeks. “I don’t give a shit about your money, Ryan. Don’t even think about that.”

  “Not the money,” he forced out. “The place. Heaven in your backyard. You stay, Bethany. You and Wink. With my family. Promise me?”

  “You’re going to make it, Ryan. You have to. Do you understand? I sent Bucky back. Help will be here soon. Just hold on a little longer.”

  “Can’t,” he whispered. “Promise me. You’ll stay. Gotta know.”

  “I promise. I’ll stay there, Ryan. With heaven in my backyard. I promise.”

  He lost consciousness for a long time then.

  Bethany kept checking his pulse. It was weak. So horribly feeble. The beats had become so faint, she could barely feel them, and they were spaced an eternity apart. He was losing his strength, his life’s blood slowly seeping away.

  A terrible stillness came over her as she cradled his head to her bare breasts. Ryan. Had it all been a dream, then? A beautiful dream doomed to end, as all dreams did?

  The moon was at its zenith when Bethany thought she heard Jake’s voice calling her name. She jerked her head up and stared stupidly through the moon-silvery gloom, wondering if she’d nodded off and been dreaming.

  “Bethaneeeeeee! Bethaneeeeee!”

  Her heart soared with hope. “Jake? We’re here! Over here! Jake?”

  She saw lights. Flashlights. What appeared to be dozens of them, bouncing wildly in the darkness. She hugged Ryan’s limp shoulders and rained kisses over his face.

  “You made it! They came. Just in time, but they came. You made it!”

  Even as Bethany said the words, she wondered if she was lying to herself. He was so horribly weak now. As much as she loved him, sometimes love simply wasn’t enough.

  Nightmares. Bethany dreamed of helicopters. Totally weird. Of Ryan and helicopters? He’d mentioned once that the Rocking K had an airstrip, but he’d never said anything about owning a helicopter. Nevertheless, she dreamed they were flying. She smiled as she struggled toward consciousness. She and Ryan, flying. Just the two of them, lifting off together. Darkness. Confusing lights all around them. The deafening whir of helicopter blades.

  In her dreams, Jake was there and so were Ryan’s brother and dad. She kept trying to remind them that it was a ten-dollar fine for every cussword, but somehow she couldn’t get her brain and mouth to work.

&n
bsp; “It’s all right, Bethie,” she heard Jake whisper. “You did good, honey. It’s going to be all right.”

  Bethany was freezing, yet she felt as if her skin was on fire. She drifted in and out of blackness, deep in an exhausted sleep one moment, jerking awake the next to see swimming faces. Her mom and dad, Jake, and her other four brothers. Everyone she loved seemed to be there.

  Everyone except Ryan.

  When Bethany finally awakened, rested and lucid, in the middle of the night, only Jake sat by her hospital bed. She gazed solemnly at his dark face for a long moment, remembering all the many times he’d sat with her in just this way eight years ago. Back then, he’d always been the one to tell her the most recent bad news—that she was still paralyzed after her last surgery and she’d probably never walk again. Poor Jake, always chosen to be the bearer of bad tidings. Bethany prayed that wasn’t the case now.

  “Ryan? Please tell me he’s all right,” she whispered.

  Jake’s eyes ached with sadness. “He’s still alive,” he told her.

  Still alive? Not that he was fine. Not even that he was doing fairly well. “What’s that mean?” She struggled up onto her elbows and immediately cried out at the pain. Her torso burned at the slightest movement. “Oh, God!”

  “You’ve got a bad burn from sitting all that time in the sun, honey. No clothing to protect your skin. When we found you, you were cooked and flirting with hypothermia as well.”

  Bethany filed away the information for later and pushed the pain aside. That was a trick she’d learned long ago, how to ignore pain. When it was a part of everyday life for a long while, you had no choice but to live with it. “Ryan. Tell me how he is, Jake. Don’t color it. I have to know how he is.”

  Jake sighed and ran a hand over his rumpled dark hair. “Not good. A crushed hip, three broken ribs, and some very serious wounds, Bethany. He lost a lot of blood. They did a direct transfusion, using Rafe’s blood.”