John Saul (21 page)

“What’s he doing?” Logan asked.

“He found something,” Joey exclaimed. He was trembling with excitement. “He found a scent, and he’s following it! Come on!”

“Joey, where are you going?” Alison cried out as Joey darted after the big dog, who was already moving into the forest, tracking the scent.

“I’m following him,” Joey yelled back. “Come on!”

Logan watched Joey and the dog disappear into the woods, his eyes widening with fear as he gazed up at his
sister. “What should we do?” he asked, the last of his bravado abandoning him.

Alison glanced around the campground nervously. “Let’s just go home,” she said, striving to sound less frightened than she was. “We’ll just walk back down to the road, okay?”

Logan nodded mutely, and the two of them started back the way they had come, but all the excitement they had felt on the way up was gone now. All the way back down to the road that meandered up the valley’s floor, it seemed they were being watched, that unseen eyes were following their every movement, that at any moment something might appear out of the woods in front of them, blocking their way.

Alison kept glancing behind them, watching and listening for signs of danger, plotting wildly what to do—turn and run back up to the campground? Or take off down the hill through the forest, toward the relative safety of the valley?

They were only a few yards from the road when they heard a rustling sound in the brush off to the left, then the sharp snap of a branch breaking.

“Run, Logan! Run!” Alison shouted. Tightening her grip on her brother’s hand, she broke into a sprint, half supporting Logan, half dragging him, running madly, gasping for breath, until they burst out onto the paved road. Without slowing, neither of them willing to risk even a glance backward, they pounded up the drive, finally throwing open the back door, then slamming it shut behind them.

Hearing the commotion, MaryAnne appeared at the door to the dining room, her smile of welcome fading as she saw the frightened expressions on her children’s faces. “Alison? Logan? What’s wrong? What happened?” Then, as she saw no sign of Joey Wilkenson: “Joey!” she exclaimed. “Something’s happened to Joey, hasn’t it?”

“N-No,” Alison stammered. “At least—I don’t think—”

“He went off with Storm,” Logan wailed. “He went off, and just left us up at the campground.” He ran to his mother, throwing his arms around her. “We heard something, Mom. It was in the woods!”

As she wrapped her arms around her son, MaryAnne stared severely at Alison. “I think you’d better tell me exactly what happened,” she said.

Haltingly, Alison explained where they had gone and what had happened at the campground. “We tried to stop him,” she finished. “We told him not to go after Storm, but he wouldn’t listen to us. He just went!”

MaryAnne said nothing for a long moment, remembering the nights Joey had taken off into the darkness, telling no one where he was going. “All right,” she said, choosing her words carefully, as much to calm herself as her children. “Joey knows the ranch, and he’s used to going off with Storm. And nothing happened to you two, so why should anything happen to him?” But even as she said the words, the knot of fear and anger in her stomach was already beginning to tighten. She would wait until six, but no later. If Joey wasn’t back by then, she would call Rick Martin.

He sat on the single rough chair in his cabin, the wolf sprawled on the floor beside him. He’d awakened an hour ago, after having slept fitfully through the day, and gone out to the stream to bathe in the fresh running water. There wouldn’t be too many days left during which he could enjoy the luxury of a bath—soon the temperature would begin to drop. Within a month the stream would begin to freeze over, but long before that the water would be far too cold for him to sink his body into it. Soon the long winter months would descend on him, with their short days and blinding whiteness and the icy chill that never left the cabin during the season he had come to dread. This winter would be his last winter here. Somehow, he knew that by spring he would be gone. But not now.

Not yet.

The wolf stirred on the floor, then sat up, her ears pricking, a low warning growl rising in her throat.

The man stiffened, his senses sharpening, alert for the noise that had disturbed the animal.

Then he heard it. Barely audible, it was the sound of small rocks being dislodged from their places as something moved up the rocky path toward the cabin.

The man sniffed at the air. There it was. The scent.

The scent that he knew well, for he often caught it on the breeze during the nights when he went down to the valley to prowl in the darkness around the great log cabin that nestled at the base of Sugarloaf Mountain.

Rising from the chair, he stepped to the door and gazed out into the clearing in which the cabin stood. Though he could see nothing, the scent was growing stronger, the telltale rattle of loose rocks steadily louder.

And beyond what he heard and smelled, a sense deep within him told him that the boy was near.

The boy who belonged to him.

Now the wolf, too, was on her feet, her sinewy body pressing close to the man’s legs as she tensed, ready to leap at whatever intruder was approaching. The man’s hand dropped to the wolf’s head, silencing the menacing snarl before it could issue from her curled lips.

There was a flicker of movement at the far side of the clearing, and then the dog appeared, his nose barely above the ground as he sniffed along the trail. The wolf’s snarl erupted, and the German shepherd stopped, one forepaw off the ground, his eyes fixing on the lean animal that crouched on the porch of the cabin.

Dog and wolf stared at each other, their eyes locked, their bodies trembling as they straggled for supremacy. But finally Storm dropped to the ground, whining.

The wolf, her snarl subsiding, trotted forward, stopped a few paces from the German shepherd and sniffed warily. Then, as she edged closer to him, a low growl rumbling in her throat, Storm rolled over, exposing his belly to the wolf. She sniffed at him, snarled once, then nipped at his flank. Instantly, Storm leaped up, whirled, but then dropped to the ground once more as a warning growl erupted from the wolf’s throat. The wolf stood over him for a moment, confirming her status, then once more allowed him to get to his feet. Storm stood still, his body quivering as the wolf slowly circled him, her nose examining him, her teeth still bared as she maintained her aggressor’s posture.

Suddenly distracted by a new sound, the wolf stiffened, and Storm seized the opportunity to dart away, disappearing
back down the trail, only to return a moment later, this time followed by Joey Wilkenson.

As his dog had a few moments earlier, Joey froze when he stepped into the clearing, his eyes locking on those of the wolf, who was now crouched once more, her teeth bared, ready to strike.

But as Joey’s eyes met hers and held them, the wolf slowly began to relax, until at last she turned away, dropping her tail, and slunk back to her master.

Joey’s gaze followed the wolf. It wasn’t until she had pressed herself once again against the man’s legs that Joey’s eyes finally rose to take in the tall figure who stood just outside the cabin’s door.

Their eyes met, their gazes held.

At Joey’s feet, Storm barked nervously, pressing himself against Joey’s legs, but Joey showed no signs of even noticing the big shepherd’s fear. Then, as the man took one step forward, Storm broke from Joey, but instead of flying to attack the man, he turned and dashed from the clearing.

As before, Joey seemed not to notice his pet’s terror. After a long moment, he started across the clearing toward the man and the wolf.

Pulled toward them as if by some unseen magnet.

Closer.

Closer.

Until Joey felt the large, cold hand on his cheek.

Five minutes to six. MaryAnne got up from the desk, where she’d been trying to concentrate on the packet of papers Charley Hawkins had given her when she’d stopped by his office after lunch that afternoon. So far, she hadn’t absorbed a single word of the documents. Leaving the den after one last glance at the clock, she started toward the kitchen, pausing at the bottom of the stairs when she saw Alison coming down from her room, Logan following her.

“Hasn’t he come home yet?” Alison asked.

“No, he hasn’t,” MaryAnne replied, keeping her voice as calm as possible. She went on into the kitchen and dropped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, unwilling to pick up the phone until the last possible second had passed. As
the clock began to strike a few minutes later, she stood up, but before she’d even taken a single step toward the phone on the counter, Logan cried out from his post by the kitchen door.

“There he is! Look! He’s coming across the field!”

Relief flooding through her, MaryAnne hurried to the door as Logan dashed outside and across the yard, scrambled over the fence into the field and ran toward Joey. Storm, seeing Logan racing toward him, bounded ahead of Joey, leaping exuberantly atop Logan, bringing him down. Soon the dog and the little boy were rolling in the wet grass, Storm barking loudly as Logan tried to wrestle him to the ground. Joey, too, ran forward to join in the fray, but when he entered the house a few moments later, his happy grin faded at the look on MaryAnne’s face.

“I think you’d better explain yourself, young man,” she snapped, her relief at his reappearance giving way to anger at the worry he’d caused her. “Do you have any idea how frightened Alison and Logan were when you took off? And what were you doing up at the campground in the first place?”

The last of Joey’s grin disappeared, and his eyes turned angry. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. We just went up there to look around, and then Storm took off. All I did was follow him!”

“Follow him!” MaryAnne shot back. “Do you know how long you’ve been gone? Two hours! Two hours, Joey!”

Joey’s expression hardened. “So what?” he demanded. “It’s not like I was lost or anything. And Mom always let—”

“I don’t care what your mother let you do,” MaryAnne cut in. “Don’t you know what happened up at the campground last night? A man was killed, Joey! And whatever killed him is still out there somewhere!”

“But I’m okay,” Joey protested. “Nothing happened! Besides, Storm wouldn’t have let anything happen to me!”

“How can you know that?” MaryAnne shot back. “What if you’d run into a grizzly? You could have both been killed!”

“Well, we weren’t!” Joey shouted. “Why don’t you just
leave me alone? You’re not my mother, and you can’t tell me what to do!”

The angry words stung MaryAnne as painfully as if the boy had slapped her, and a furious reply rose to her lips before she checked herself, aware of Logan and Alison, their faces pale as they huddled together near the dining room door, more frightened by her outburst than by Joey’s disappearance. With an effort she put her anger under control. “Joey, I’m sorry,” she said. “But you have to understand how frightened I was. After what happened last night, for you to disappear like that was terrifying. Who knows what Storm might have been following? Can’t you understand how worried I was?”

“There wasn’t anything to worry about,” Joey insisted. “Mom let me go anywhere I wanted, as long as Storm was with me!”

MaryAnne took a deep breath, then let it out as she struggled to control her emotions. “All right, let’s assume she did, Joey,” she began. “But she’s not here anymore, and now I’m responsible for you. Whether you like it or not, I’m your guardian now, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to do as I tell you. And I’m telling you—”

But Joey was no longer listening. “I don’t need a guardian!” he shouted. “I don’t need to be taken care of! Why don’t you just go away?” Before MaryAnne could stop him, he was out the door again, Storm at his heels.

“Joey?” she called, hurrying to the door as he dashed back toward the field. “Joey, come back here—”

But the boy ignored her, vaulting over the rail fence that separated the field from the yard. He was halfway across the field as MaryAnne let the kitchen door swing closed.

Damn it, damn it, damn it! She’d handled it all wrong! Why had she thrown her authority in his face? He hardly knew her—had barely had time to get used to the fact that his parents were dead! What did she expect of him?

“Mom?” Alison said, her voice quivering. “What are you going to do?”

As MaryAnne hesitated, Alison and Logan exchanged a glance.

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Logan asked.

MaryAnne looked out toward the forest into which Joey had disappeared. “He will,” she said. “When he calms down, he’ll come home.”

But even as she spoke the words, she wondered if she really believed them.

“H
ow long are we going to wait?” Alison asked. A fire was blazing on the hearth, but its dancing flames had done little to dispel the dark mood that had settled not only over Alison, but her mother and brother as well. Nor had the droning of the television distracted any of them from worrying about Joey. Periodically, as the evening wore on, one or the other of them found an excuse to leave the room, to tour through the downstairs rooms, peering out into the darkness, searching for any sign of either Joey or Storm. So far there had been nothing.

“We’ll give him another few minutes.” MaryAnne sighed, abandoning any pretense of watching the image on the television screen. As the clock began striking nine, she stood up. “Maybe I’d better check the barn again.”

“Can I go with you?” Logan asked.

“You’ve already done that five times, Mom,” Alison pointed out before MaryAnne could answer Logan’s question.

“Then I’ll do it one more time,” MaryAnne replied. “And no, you can’t go with me, Logan. I want you to stay in the house with Alison.”

“But why?” Logan wailed. “I want to see the horses!”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Logan,” MaryAnne told the little boy. And I’m not going to tell you why not, either, she thought as she went into the kitchen to put on one of Audrey’s heavy jackets against the cold night air. She hadn’t told either of the children of the terror she’d felt outside the barn the other night, and she had no intention of telling them now. Although every time she’d gone out to the barn tonight—each time hoping that this time she
would find Joey and Storm curled up on the floor of one of the empty stalls—she’d found the horses calmly standing in their stalls, peering at her with placid eyes, apparently undisturbed by either her own presence, or the presence of anything else. Yet her fear had not diminished.