Linda Howard - Prey

“No, I’m good.” She made a helpless gesture. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For nearly crippling you. You sound like Rice Krispies when you move.”

“Snap, crackle, pop? Hell, I sound like that every morning when I get up.”

“I had to have made things worse.”

“The mud was the hardest part. Carrying someone conscious isn’t that tough. Dead weight’s a bitch, though.” He said it with the slightly absentminded manner of someone who was well acquainted with carrying dead weight, then rolled to his feet with a litheness that belied any sore muscles or stiffness. “I’m starving. You have any preferences for supper? We’re okay for food. I always have some supplies up here, plus I brought more when I came up. We have jerky or power bars if easy’s what you want, or I can heat some water and we’ll have hot soup or stew-”

“Stew,” she said, sitting up as the thought made her mouth water. She was starving, which wasn’t surprising considering how many calories they had both burned during the night, without anything to eat in almost twenty-four hours except the sugar water he’d made for them, and a power bar each. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Tidy up what you can reach,” he replied. “I kind of left the area in a mess this morning.”

She was absurdly gratified that he didn’t dismiss her offer. No, she wasn’t very mobile and couldn’t do much, but she could definitely crawl around the small space and pick up the dirty, soggy clothing that had been scattered helter-skelter. Their muddy boots had been left where they’d fallen, her mud-encrusted rifle and scabbard were propped in a corner, though Dare’s rifle was within easy reach. The cups they’d used that morning were on the floor, as well as the power bar wrappers.

Dare was a military man; for him not to police his area told her more than words could on how exhausted he had been when he’d carried her up the ladder early that morning.

She tidied as much as she could, putting the trash in a plastic trash bag, folding their wet clothing into a neat pile so he could take them down and hang them over the stalls to dry. While she was doing that, Dare moved the camp stove into their small area, set it down, and lit it. She appreciated the notion behind not wasting any heat. She wasn’t cold now, thank goodness, but the cabin was definitely chilly.

“This is an interesting design,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the cabin. “You built it yourself?”

“I designed it. Hired someone else to build it. I was too busy to take care of it myself, plus I hate hammering shit together.” He paused in the act of pouring bottled water into the percolator, and glanced up at her, blue eyes glittering. “Guess that wasn’t the most diplomatic thing to say.”

“Which part? The one that pointed out your business was booming while mine was withering away, or the interesting mental image of hammering shit?”

Her tone was wry. To her own surprise, she couldn’t muster even a little anger at her career downturn. It had happened, she was in the process of dealing with it, and she’d make things work out in the end. On the other hand, she was definitely amused at his turn of phrase.

“The first part.”

He didn’t back away from trouble, she noted, just met it head on and dealt with it. For now, though, there was no trouble. She couldn’t say there wouldn’t be later, but as far as she was concerned last night he’d bought himself a lot of leeway. There was no way to tell where that leeway might run out, but she knew for certain it wasn’t right here, right now.

“It’s okay. Anyway, I like that you designed it so the horses are completely safe and enclosed.”

He set the percolator on the flame. “I’d rather use four-wheelers; they’re faster and aren’t as much trouble, but a lot of clients prefer to do the whole roughing-in routine with horses so I had to take that into account. This way, either four-wheelers or horses can be secured below.”

“Bear proof.” Just saying the words made the bottom drop out of her stomach as a vivid memory flashed in her mind. Bile rose in her throat, almost choking her. She would never forget, never get those images out of her mind.

“Yeah.” He gave her a sharp look that told her he’d noted her change of expression, or maybe there had been something in her voice that gave her away. “Exactly what happened last night? Start at the beginning.”

Using her left foot, she levered herself back so she could lean against the wall and stretch her legs out in front of her. “I’m not sure where the beginning is. There was probably trouble between my two clients before they got here. There had to have been.”

“They were arguing?”

“No, but they weren’t friends, either. Their names are Chad Krugman and Mitchell Davis. I’ve guided Krugman before. He isn’t much of an outdoorsman, but last year he came with a client of his and when he booked again this year I figured it was the same setup, that he was doing it for business reasons.”

Dare dumped stew mix into two disposable bowls, then scooted back to sit propped against the wall beside her. His hard triceps was warm against her shoulder, his thigh rubbed against hers. “I get a lot of business associates, but usually they’re on good terms.”

Resolutely, she kept her mind on what she was saying, rather than on the big man who sat so close against her, once more sharing his body heat. “Mitchell Davis wasn’t happy when they got to my place, and he wasn’t happy with anything about me, the accommodations, food, the campsite, or anything else. I thought he was just one of those people who is born a bastard and dies a bastard, you know?”

“I’ve met my share,” he said drily.

She sighed. “Yesterday, I left them in camp while I scouted for fresh bear sign at a location where I’d seen some before. I thought I saw some trash lying off to the side, but when I got over there it was a digital camera, and part of a plaid shirt.” She drew a deep breath. “There were bear tracks, and a lot of blood, and scuff marks where something had been dragged.”

“God.” He leaned his head back against the wall and said in a long-suffering, incredulous tone, “Please tell me you didn’t follow the trail to a bear’s kill.”

“I was already closer to it than I ever wanted to be,” she said grimly. “As soon as I realized, I didn’t go any closer but worked my way around so I had a better angle, to verify the kill was human.”

He turned a disbelieving glare down at her, then heaved a sigh and shook his head. “I guess I would’ve done the same thing.”

“I had my rifle, and bear spray. Trust me, I listened and checked around me, in all directions, every time I took a step. It was a man. I think it was a man,” she added in a soft tone. “He’d been half-eaten, and the bear had scratched some dirt over him.”

“It has to be the same bear that came into your camp. Shit.”

“Yeah, what are the odds there would be two man-eaters in the same area?”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t bet the ranch. Has to be the same bear.”

“I went back to the camp and told Krugman and Davis we could all either go back to Lattimore’s the next morning-today-so I could notify the Fish and Wildlife Department, or they could stay and I’d go. Davis was predictably nasty, I offered to refund their money, and that was that. I went to my tent as soon as I could, partly just to get away from Davis. Krugman was nicer and I felt sorry for him because Davis was so hateful to him, which shows you what a terrible judge of character I am. I woke up around midnight, heard their voices, and I could tell they were arguing. I pulled on my boots and coat, got my rifle and flashlight, and went to break up the fight.”