Montana Refuge (9 page)

“I see it,” Julie said, and set about hauling wood and placing it in the firebox Tyler had welded together a few years earlier. In days past, the cook would have dug a trench and staked spit hangers in the ground, leaning over the hole. Pots would be hung from these spit hangers. But because this camp was used often and had places to store supplies, the firebox came in real handy and took away the need to dig a trench. It contained the fire and hence the danger of spreading flames and provided lots of bars and structure on which pots could be suspended and a grill laid down for cooking meat or resting a pan.

Julie found herself humming as she worked, amused when she realized it was the tune Tyler always whistled in an absentminded way. She opened up the back of the chuck wagon and hauled the iceboxes out of the bed. Andy built a more traditional campfire a short distance away, one which people could sit around once it got dark, resting on bales of straw, eating off tin plates, listening to the occasional lone coyote howl in the mountains.

Even though she had often helped Rose with these chores, she’d never been in charge of them herself. All the work kept her mind off the mess she’d made of things in Portland and even the one she’d allowed to develop the night before when her body had reacted to Tyler’s touch and kisses with a mind of its own. Maybe after a week of hard work and quiet nights, she’d see a way to survive the life she’d left behind.

As she chopped onions for the beans, she looked around at the river and trees and the budding camp and realized she felt safe out here. Tomorrow, they would cross the river and begin the slow, steady climb into the mountains and with each mile, they’d be leaving civilization further behind. In the past, the journey had made her feel small and insignificant and lost somehow, but today, it seemed to promise a rebirth of sorts. All she had to do was stay out of Tyler’s way.

Ham hocks, onions and seasonings went in with the beans, then Andy helped her hang the heavy pot over the fire. Along with the beans, Rose had planned on grilled steaks and chicken, corn bread, salad and berry cobbler. A coffee grinder was attached to the side of the chuck wagon, the old-fashioned kind with a hand crank, and Julie started grinding beans. Every cattle drive was run by coffee, she knew that much, and the rule of thumb was if it didn’t stand a spoon on end, it wasn’t strong enough.

After that she set out tubs for collecting dirty dishes. There were berries to prep, batters to measure, steak to marinate, tons of vegetables to slice. It was more cooking than Julie had done in months, but it all came back as though she’d done it yesterday, and she was actually surprised an hour later when she heard the first sounds of the approaching herd.

The cows would be kept at some distance and downwind from the camp. The wranglers—guests, too, if they liked—would take shifts keeping an all-night vigil. Cows were skitterish animals and the threat of a stampede was always a clear and present danger, so the camp was situated to offer maximum possible protection for sleeping humans.

One by one the guests started showing up on foot, their horses left to graze with the herd. The general mood was jovial and several people greeted the coffeepot like an old friend. They’d each been given lunches to carry in their saddlebags, so no one was hungry except Bobby Taylor who walked away with a couple of granola bars and the doctor who asked if there was anything to drink besides coffee. She handed him a juice box and explained there was always a stash of munchies and fruit at everyone’s disposal.

“Oh, I’m not a big eater, not anymore,” he said with a smile.

She wasn’t sure how to react. It seemed like prying to ask what he meant, so she said, “Well, it’s nice having a doctor along.”

He looked up as he inserted the straw into the box. “I work in emergency and urgent care,” he said, taking a couple of sips.

“That’s great! If anything happens out here, it’ll be right up your alley.”

“Do you expect something to happen?” he asked, his gaunt face wearing an expression of alarm. He tossed the juice box into the garbage. By the thud it made, it was clear he hadn’t consumed much.

“No, of course not. But you know, we’re at a high altitude and even though we caution people to use sunblock, not everyone does. Occasionally there’s a cut or insect bite. The cook usually hands out medical supplies like ointments and bandages.”

“I brought my bag, so if there’s something a little more serious, be sure you ask for help,” he said.

“I will.” She opened a bag in the back of the wagon and took out an apple and tossed it to him. He grinned his thanks and walked off.

The two fly-fishing brothers were soon leading a small line of fishermen, newly equipped with poles and creels, off to the river. Some of the others gathered their personal bedrolls, marked with their names, from the stack Andy had made when he helped empty the wagon. Still another group hiked off with one of the wranglers, each clutching bows and quivers of arrows.

After Julie assembled the cobbler in a couple of Dutch ovens, she adjusted the embers, trying to use twice as much heat on the lid than on the bottom. It was a tricky proposition and would be repeated with the corn bread. She’d helped do it many times, but now she was in charge and she didn’t want to screw it up.

She’d just put the corn bread into another Dutch oven when she heard movement behind her and turned to find Tyler drawing himself a cup of coffee. She’d always had a weak spot for him when he was out on a ride; hard work just flattered him. And now he stood ten feet away, a coffee mug in his hand, hat pulled low over his eyes, a little dusty, a little worn, skin bronzed from the sun, gun strapped to his waist and thigh, clothes a study of tans and browns. Her knees went weak.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

She knelt down and used tongs to distribute the coals on the lid. “Fine,” she said, looking at her work instead of at him.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said this morning,” he added. “About petty crime. Every situation that mixes strangers together has the potential for problems. You know that.”

She kept her face turned. “Sure.”

“Damn it, Julie, look at me.”

She finished her job and stood, turning to face him.

“Did you have a problem last night after...well, we parted?”

“No,” she said, dropping her gaze again. “No problems.”

“Then why did you ask—”

“I just overheard a couple of the wranglers,” she said, making things up as she went along. She was not going to involve Tyler in her problems, not again, not after last night. “They said something about a theft—”

“Wait, do you mean that situation we had last fall?”

She took a chance and nodded.

“They were talking about a kleptomaniac guest who stole things people left laying around. Her husband agreed to search her things periodically and return what she’d taken. It was really kind of sad.”

Julie nodded. She’d figured every season brought some little hint of crime, and she’d been right. “Yeah, I can see how it would be,” she said.

His voice reflected the fact that he considered this worry checked off on his list. “How are things going? Do you need help?”

“No, thanks.”

“I could—”

“No,” she said again. “Andy unpacked the bedrolls for me. I’m just getting the baking done. The beans are cooking, the salad is ready, we’ll get a couple of the guests to work on hand-cranking ice cream when they get back from archery and fishing, and I’ll grill the meat last thing. If I’m leaving something out, just tell me.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” he said. “Why won’t you look at me?”

She shook her head, her gaze once again averted, and walked stiffly back to the chuck wagon, her thoughts a jumble. She knew he was right behind her and she turned suddenly to ask what he wanted.

One look up at his face, and she knew what he wanted and just like that, she wanted it, too. She wanted him, and she didn’t want to stop until she’d had him and that wasn’t going to happen.

All the overwhelming sensations of the night before flooded through her body again and without any possibility of acting on them, she took a step backward and stumbled over an extra Dutch oven she’d left on the ground. Down she went like a bag of rocks. Tyler reached forward and tried to catch her, but her momentum pulled him along as well, and he ended up on top of her. At the same instance, she heard a whirring sound and closed her eyes, unsure what was going on except Tyler’s weight pressing her into the earth had knocked her breath away.

What would she do if he kissed her right out here in the middle of the camp in broad daylight with who knows who watching?

“Julie,” he said, “are you all right?”

He was getting to his feet and she opened her eyes to find him reaching down for her with one hand. He pulled her to her feet and gripped her shoulders, his gaze drilling into hers, and then it shifted to a point behind her.

“Look,” he said, turning her to face the chuck wagon.

She found an arrow stuck in the frame of the chuck wagon at precisely the level of her head. It was still quivering.

She turned around to face Tyler who reached beyond her and grabbed the arrow shaft. He pulled hard, but the arrow stuck fast.

* * *

W
HILE
J
ULIE INSISTED
on going back to her chores, Tyler took off toward the archery practice area. A wrangler by the name of Mele who hailed from the Big Island of Hawaii where her father owned a huge cattle ranch, conducted the lessons.

Mele was in the process of gathering the arrows by pulling them out of the targets. Tyler took a good look around—how an arrow from this hollow made it to the chuck wagon was a total mystery.

“Where is everyone?” Tyler called when he was still ten feet away.

Mele turned and looked at him over her shoulder. He always got a kick out of how jarring this exotic-looking mix of cultures from the islands looked decked out in chaps and denim. Her slanted dark eyes smiled as she responded. “Lesson broke up a little bit ago.”

He explained what had just occurred at the chuck wagon and asked her if any of the archers had acted strangely or left early.

“They may have,” she said. “As long as they stay behind the line of fire, I don’t pay that much attention. And before you ask, I gave them the usual lecture on safety and all of that,” she added. “Really, though, I don’t think any of them except John Smyth is skilled enough to shoot an arrow that far, and how would it fly over the rise of the land unless it was shot up into the air and then fell to the ground?”

“I don’t think that’s the case. I think it came straight at us.”

“Well, John Smyth is a good shot, but Meg Peterson and Red Sanders can barely hit the target. Dr. Marquis seemed bored with the whole thing. I don’t know what to tell you, but I guess it’s possible someone aimed at something they weren’t supposed to and the arrow went astray. Weirder things have happened.”

“That’s true,” Tyler admitted, but hearing Smyth’s named was a little jarring. His mother’s warning about the man echoed in his head.

“So Smyth is a good shot?”

She pulled an arrow out of the bull’s eye and nodded at the target. “Excellent.”

“Did he take his bow when he left?”

“They all did.” Mele narrowed her eyes. “John doesn’t strike me as a careless man,” she said.

“No,” Tyler said. “Me either. Well, keep your eyes peeled.” Turning, he walked back to the camp, making a detour by the lean-to where they stored supplies. The archery equipment was in plain view, its cupboard unlocked, the door open which wasn’t unusual seeing as Mele would need to return her share of the equipment. He had no way of knowing if anything was missing or if any had been replaced, but the thought of someone running around taking potshots at Julie was a chilling thought.

Could this have anything to do with the things she’d told him about last night? Wouldn’t she know if Trill was on this trip? She’d met everyone when they delivered their bedrolls to her wagon.

By the time he’d walked back to the camp, the wranglers had set up white tents for those who wanted to use them, the fishermen had returned and Julie had affixed their catch to sticks which it appeared she’d roast over the fire Indian-style. He had no idea she knew how to do that. She also had chicken quarters on the grill and was taking orders from people about how they liked their meat cooked.

The campfire was burning and the light was fading. A few people had settled on the straw bales and held cocktails in their hands. While the ranch didn’t provide liquor, people were free to bring along their own personal supply if they wished. Red was one of those holding a glass and from the color of his cheeks, it wasn’t his first. John Smyth sat talking to Dr. Marquis and Bobby Taylor.

Tyler heard Andy launch into a colorful trail story as he followed Julie back to the firebox where she flipped over the chicken. The Dutch ovens were off the heat and she plopped the first steak on the grill and stirred a huge pot of beans.

She looked up at him through the smoke. The fatigue he’d recognized earlier in the day was in full evidence now and he wanted to help her.

“Did you find out who—” she began.

“No,” he said. “I think someone must have taken some equipment to fool around with. If he or she saw where it went and how close it came to hurting you, it probably scared the daylights out of them and they took off.”

She stared at him hard for a second and he could tell she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. “I hope it doesn’t happen again,” she said.

“It won’t.” He watched as she positioned the fish over the heat. “I’ll give a little talk about camp safety and ask whoever shot that arrow to step forward and take responsibility.”

“You can’t do that,” she said.

“Julie, you’re lucky you tripped when you did,” he said.

“I know, but—”

“I don’t think you should count on luck again. If it had hit you...” he said, but then stopped with the sentence left hanging there.

She finished it for him. “It would have killed me,” she said. “I know.”

Chapter Seven