by Linda Mackay
“Awesome,” Todd said. “Guilty until proven innocent.”
“Shoot first, ask questions later,” Amanda added.
“What about your original contact?” Frank asked bringing the conversation back on track.
“It wasn’t his fault. He received the evidence and acted properly. The trouble began when he passed it along and that person made it disappear.”
“Okay, Liz.” Dad kicked the legs around on a dining table chair so he could prop up the foot he’d broken during our escape in July. “Now you’ve come to us and are hoping we can bail you out?”
“I’m hoping you want to catch whoever was behind the assassination, without needing to be forced.”
The piranha was one tough lady, but she was a terrible poker player. She was holding a pair of fours to our royal flush. “Seems to me without our expert help you are out of luck,” I said.
“I could tell the FBI you refuse to cooperate and are withholding evidence.”
“And I could tell you to pack your bags and get off my ranch unless you apologize for threatening my friends.” Frank held Liz’s gaze, while I scooted out of the danger zone in case they started throwing punches. “Seems we have a stalemate, and on my ranch that means you have ten minutes to leave on your own or you’ll be escorted off the property.”
“Agent Daniel, I believe you have something to say.” Mac savored a bite of cinnamon roll, while his eyes stared at the piranha like a mountain lion stalking its prey.
“My approach was incorrect.”
“Wow, that was the worst apology.” Looking around I could see no one else was impressed either.
Frank, however, nodded his acceptance. “Let’s start over.”
Mac ran his fingers through his hair. It was the closest thing he had to a tell in a poker game. Before anyone made a move, he was analyzing his. “Where would you like to start Dr. Clark?”
“I’d like you to explain why you worked diligently to keep our identities hidden three months ago and now you want to parade us in front of a camera.”
“I’ve already explained this.” Mac rolled a pencil between his fingers.
“Do it again, and maybe my two assistants will finally understand that once their names and faces are in the news they’re targets. Only a fool would believe we weren’t the original group to uncover the truth. And I don’t believe there is a single fool involved in the assassination plot.”
“Leave the youngsters behind,” Dad said. “I’ll take you and be happy to face the public.”
“Dad, you aren’t going anywhere.”
“Joe, she’s right. You’re in no shape to ride and incapable of hiking any distance. And none of you will be ‘going public.’ The information will be leaked to the press, who will have no problem jumping all over it, or I will hold a press conference.”
“I don’t trust you,” I said.
The piranha literally brushed me aside. “Then you’ll stay behind and Todd and Amanda will take Mac and I to the bay.”
“Oh no they won’t. They work for me.”
“Actually boss, our work for you is finished this year and neither of us has anything else to do except herd cattle until we leave for warmer climes,” Todd said.
Walking to the window as she spoke, Amanda couldn’t look me in the eyes. “Those assjacks tried to kill us! I’d prefer to see them locked up than spend my life looking over one shoulder.”
“Fine. The four of you have fun. I have research to dissect and report. I’m out!” I slammed the door behind me.
The October chill had turned to a warning of December. The few trees that still held the green leaves of summer would by tonight paint a final portrait of golden aspen. Soon after storming out of Frank’s house I’d ridden out of our valley and into the mountains. I’d packed a few days food and gear on Chimayo, and then saddled Arikira to ride. She knew I was running and disapproved. She tossed her saddle before I could cinch it, and then expressed her displeasure with my desire to escape by thumping her head into my back hard enough to knock me over. Habits die hard on both our parts: I turned her up trail, and she continued to balk at my flight from reality.
We arrived late afternoon at the backcountry line cabin, high in the Gros Ventre Mountains, twelve miles from the ranch. The cabin had once been a trapper’s one room home. Twenty years ago Frank, Dad, and Gramps rebuilt it for use as a hunting and line cabin. They even managed to drag a small wood stove on a travois, behind a snow machine, to the renovated log structure. After twenty winters, many so brutal when Dad arrived in the spring it was still buried in snow above the roof, the cabin was again in need of work.
The horses were happy to be finished with the steep climb of the final few miles. I unsaddled them and let them graze. Neither would wander far from the cabin or the lean-to where they could shelter together.
The fire in the wood stove was set and all I had to do was throw in a match. I opened the wood shutters on the two windows that were protecting the cabin from allowing a bear easy access. After the inside was unlatched, I walked outside and opened the outside shutters. Even shutters were not always enough to keep out a persistent bear and on two occasions cowboys had arrived to find the cabin ransacked and wood stove overturned. The only food kept at the cabin was stashed in two metal ammunition cans that were buried three feet under a floorboard. At 9000 feet in altitude, even home canned food could freeze underground in the severest of winters. Frank preferred the taste of home canned food, but also stored freeze-dried packets that didn’t need to be rotated as often.
Not once had a bear breached the pit to obtain the emergency food. Every fall the home-canned stash was changed out to insure the health of any person who might need it. I knew Frank and Dad had already readied the cabin for winter, so my intrusion was not a welcome one.
The fire took hold and the small room quickly warmed. I unrolled my sleeping bag on the bottom bunk. Looking around I found the water bladder, picked up my rifle, and walked the short distance to the stream. Even with bear spray strapped in a pouch across my chest, the rifle was still an absolute necessity in the backcountry. Through the pines I could see storm clouds moving in from the south. I liked the sound of rain on the tin roof of the old cabin. The horses wouldn’t be as happy about it, but would be grateful the temperature promised rain instead of snow.
The morning meeting and ride to the cabin had exhausted me, and after putting the full water bladder in the sink, I laid on the bunk to nap.
Thunder rumbled and a flash of lightening lit the cabin. I opened my eyes and through a sleep-filled haze saw the back of a man tending the wood stove.
“You shouldn’t let the fire go out, you might not get it started again in this rain,” he said.
“You should break your habit of stalking people.”
“I’m comfortable with my habits.”
“Of course you are.” My world had changed so drastically in the past several months that Mac’s appearance wasn’t a surprise. “Are you the only one here?”
“Yes.”
“Tracking me alone into the backcountry is dangerous even for an ex-spy.”
“I’ve been here before.” Mac turned from the fire, stared, daring me to ask when and why. I refused to take the bait so he changed the subject. “The temperature was going up instead of down as I rode in. I packed for snow, and now it’s only raining.”
“Next time check the barometer before you leave the ranch. It’s a much better indicator of the weather than your satellite-internet weather report.”
“Would you have come here if you thought it was going to snow?” Mac threw another log on the fire.
“Not a chance. The horses would never forgive me.” I zipped my fleece against the chill in the tiny room.
“What’d you bring for dinner?” Mac asked.
“Freeze-dried stew, and I’m not sharing.”
“I brought a steak, and I’m not sharing.” Mac put the cast iron skillet on top of the wood stove. He poured oil in
to the pan from a small container he took out of his pack. I watched as he took out onions and mushrooms and then one thick steak.
I got off the bunk and looked in his pack. He wasn’t kidding. He’d only brought one steak.
“Would you like me to start water boiling in a pan so you can heat your dinner?” Mac asked dropping the onions and mushrooms in the skillet.
“I’m not hungry.” Actually, I was starving.
“You can pout all night if you want. But, I suggest you eat before you get too cranky.”
Walking the couple steps to the sink, I used a tin cup to fill the pan with water and set it to boil on the wood stove. There was a tiny table with two stumps for chairs in the back corner of the cabin. There was no point in fighting the inevitable, so I set the table for two. Between the clouds and the oncoming winter darkness, night was overtaking the forest early. The 16 hours of summer daylight were gone. In a few weeks the night sky would arrive in the late afternoon bringing the cold and snow with it.
Mac interrupted my musing. “I saw bear tracks on the trail. With them in hyperphagia I think it would be a good idea to close up the shutters tonight. Why don’t you light the lanterns and turn the steak while I go outside and close them.”
“When did you learn about bears and their pre-hibernation eating habits? And those tracks weren’t there when I rode in, so I’ll stand guard with the rifle while you close the shutters.”
“Let me turn the steak first,” Mac said.
Checking my rifle was loaded I waited at the door and loudly called ‘hey bear’ over and over to let any interested bear know humans were in the area. Mac quickly closed the outside shutters. Once back inside I closed the indoor shutters that were connected by chains to the ones outside. The dual system was a nifty push-me-pull-you trick Frank invented after the last bear break-in.
Mac put the three bars across the front door while I threw my bag of freeze-dried stew in the boiling water. “You never answered my question about hyperphagia?”
“While you were away working, I was reading. I learned before hibernation the bears get in a panic for food and are more aggressive because of the need to consume over 20,000 calories a day.”
I was impressed.
Mac stirred my bag of food in the boiling water. “That bear was probably interested in the smell my raw steak was giving off, which means your choice of freeze-dried was smarter.”
“You’re still learning. As punishment maybe you should eat my freeze-dried and I get the steak?”
“Not a chance, sugar. But if you’re real nice I might share.”
In these close quarters I was afraid to ask what real nice meant. “I’ll do the dishes.”
“That’s a start,” Mac said.
Curiosity was another bad habit of mine. “What do you mean by real nice?”
“You join us at Mary Bay.”
“Not a chance, Special Forces.”
“Then, not a bite.” Mac pulled a flask from his pack and poured red wine into his cup.
“That’s playing dirty.”
“Whatever it takes, sugar.”
“Stop calling me, sugar.”
“Stop calling me, Special Forces.”
Waving the cup under my nose was also playing dirty. I smelled the rich floral and licorice aroma of the wine. “Try some, it’s quite tasty,” Mac said.
I took the cup from him. It was one of Frank’s best vintages in his cellar. “How did you get Frank to give you this?”
“He said between the wine and steak, you’d cave and come with us.”
“If you brought fresh ground coffee, we’ll talk.”
Chapter 3
A low growl and scratching on the outside wall woke me. I reached for my rifle on the floor. It was missing.
“It’s under the bunk.” Mac whispered, turning his head to check I could hear him. “I accidentally kicked it when I got out of bed.”
I unzipped the sleeping bag, slid out and rolled onto the floor. Reaching under the bed I grabbed the rifle stock. “All that wine made me sleepy. Sorry I wasn’t on the ball.”
“He hasn’t been out there long.” There was a knock on the door. “At least it’s a polite bear. Got a plan?”
“First thing is to light the lanterns. We want her to know we’re here.”
“Excuse me, I forgot you were in direct communication with her.”
“Even if I wasn’t, it’s easy to hear if you really listen. There’s actually two of them, which means it’s a sow with a cub,” I said.
“Two? Where?”
“The cub is standing on the outside of mom. It’s a cub of the year, so he isn’t very big, and letting mom do the work while he shuffles behind her.”
With both lanterns lit the scratching stopped. I squatted next to the door, rifle in one hand, and other extended towards the sow. Mama, there is no safe place for you here. Take your cub and go. To stay brings danger.
The forest was silent. It was so quiet it was like no one was breathing inside or outside the cabin. Then with a loud huff, the sow took off running with her cub close behind.
“I will never get used to that.”
“Bears?” I asked knowing exactly what he meant, but wanting him to admit it.
“No, you’re ability to communicate with them.”
“It was mostly the light of the lantern,” I said.
“Liar.”
“It helped.”
“Did she talk back to you?” Mac’s interest had proven genuine, so I was learning to answer without too much trepidation.
“She said, hungry.”
“Sorry about endangering us by bringing fresh food.” Mac leaned his rifle against the bunk.
“I’m not worried about us. I just never want to endanger an animal because of human behavior.”
“It won’t happen again.”
I felt sorry for him, which was not a good thing. “Dinner was really good.”
“I at least remembered to pack a boneless, trimmed steak so we weren’t packing out leftover bones and fat.” Mac grabbed the rifle at the sound of rustling.
“It’s a coyote passing through to see if the bear left any scraps,” I said. “What time is it?”
“Just after two.”
I placed the rifle next to the bunk and climbed back in the sleeping bag. “Please, throw another log on the stove and then get some rest. I want to show you something tomorrow before we ride back to the ranch.”
“I like that you said we. Should I turn off the lanterns?”
“Leave the solar one on low. It should stay on for a couple hours and help deter mama bear from returning.”
Stepping on the edge of the lower bunk, Mac climbed into the top bed. “I meant it about the we. I assume that means you’ll come back to the ranch so I don’t need to worry about you being up here alone?”
“I’ll come back to the ranch, but I’m not going to Mary Bay.”
“If you don’t go, no one goes.”
“Idle threat. Bet you were a crappy spy.”
“What time is it?”
“You need to wear a watch,” Mac said.
I rolled out of the bunk. “Coffee, please.”
The mug appeared in front of my face. Wrapping my hands around it I looked around the room. “Why didn’t you open the front door and let some light in?”
“Because, your friend is still outside.” Mac pointed to the small hole in the door.
I looked out to see mama bear lying in the middle of the trail. “This is not good.”
Mac sat at the table with the lantern casting a glow of light around the room. “I didn’t think bears would approach the cabin with three horses out front.”
“I guarantee you the horses have moved down the trail away from her.”
“Are you saying we’re walking out of here?”
“Nope, I’m saying, once I’ve had three cups of coffee, I’ll run off the bear and call the horses.”
Sitting still as a wolf on a hillsid
e sizing up his unsuspecting prey in the valley below, Mac watched me drink the first cup. There’d been a time when his intense gaze would’ve bothered me. We’d managed to come to an agreement that I would accept he was here to stay, and he would accept I hated that. He stood and poured me a second cup. “You mad about the food smell attracting the bear?”
“Not in the least. She would be here even if your steak wasn’t.” I flashed him an I-know-more-than-you-smile.
“I will keep playing your cryptic game.”
“I know. But, you hate it.” Or at least I thought he hated it. Did Mac actually enjoy baiting me and then watching me attempt to reveal as little as possible?
In the three months since the President was killed little had changed in the outside world. But everything had changed in mine. Most disturbing to me was overall society had grown so self-absorbed, that it marched on unconcerned and uninterested. Whoever had planned the assassination knew this was the perfect time in history to commit such a bold act.
My reasoning for not wanting to reopen the investigation was I believed the only people who would be hurt was our group. The new President was doing a good job. Would it matter to the masses there’d been an assassination instead of an accident? Todd, Amanda and I had argued the point regularly while we sat around the campfire after a long day of research in Yellowstone.
In the end, we agreed the world had grown a callus so big that removing it to rediscover a connection and willingness to personally help others, was a waste of time. Cynical? Absolutely. But it was that cynicism, which made me hesitant to plunge my friends and family into a dangerous plan to expose assassins. I’m not convinced anyone gives a damn.
I took some granola from the bag Mac extended to me. “I have an apple in my pack, if you want to cut it up and share.”
“What did you want to show me before we head back?”
I held out my coffee mug. “It’s a surprise. What time is it?”
