She stopped again, on the verge of the grassland. “Deer, elk, buffalo. It’s like a smorgasbord,” she said, gesturing at the tracks in the snow. “Which is why I might get lucky.”
She swung off the horse and approached a rough wood box. Coop heard her muttering and cursing as he tethered his own horse. “The camera’s not broken.” She picked a smashed padlock out of the snow. “And it wasn’t the weather or the fauna. Some joker.” She shoved the broken lock in her pocket and crouched to open the top of the box.
“Playing tricks. Smash the lock, open it up, and turn off the camera.”
Coop studied the box, the camera in it. “How much does one of those run?”
“This one? About six hundred. And yeah, I don’t know why he didn’t take it either. Just screwing around.”
Maybe, Coop thought. But it had gotten her up here, and would’ve gotten her up here alone if he hadn’t impulsively come along.
He wandered away as she reset the camera, then called her base on her radio phone.
He couldn’t track or read signs with her skill, no point in pretending otherwise. But he could see the boot prints, coming and going. Crossing the grassland, going into the trees on the other side.
From the size of the boot, the length of the stride, he’d estimate the vandal-if that’s what he was-at about six feet, with a boot size between ten and twelve. But he’d need more than eyeballing to be sure he was even in the ballpark.
He scanned the flatland, the trees, the brush, the rocks. There was, he knew, a lot of backcountry, some park, some private. A lot of places someone could camp without crossing paths with anyone else.
Cats weren’t the only species who stalked and ambushed.
“Camera’s back up.” She studied the tracks as Cooper had. “He’s at home up here,” she commented, then turned to walk to a weathered green tarp staked to the ground. “I hope he didn’t mess with the cage.”
She unhooked the tarp, flung it back. The cage was intact, but for the door she’d packed on the horse. “We remove the door, just in case somebody tries to use it, or an animal’s curious enough to get in, then can’t get out. I leave one up here because I’ve had luck in this section. Easier than hauling the cage up every time. Not much human traffic up here through the winter.”
She jerked her chin. “He came from the same direction we did, on foot, at least for the last half mile.”
“I got that much myself. From behind the camera.”
“I guess he’s shy. Since you’re here, you might as well help me set this up.”
He hauled the cage while she retrieved the door. On the edge of the grassland he watched her attach it with quick, practiced efficiency. She checked the trap several times, then baited it with bloody hunks of beef.
She noted the time, nodded. “A little more than two hours before dusk. If she’s hunting here, the bait should bring her in.”
She washed the blood off her hands with snow, put her gloves on. “We can watch from camp.”
“Can we?”
She grinned. “I have the technology.”
They started back toward the campsite, but she veered off-as he’d suspected she would-to follow the human trail.
“He’s crossing into the park,” she said. “If he keeps going in this direction, he’s going to hit the trailhead. Alone and on foot.”
“We can follow it in, but eventually you’re going to lose the origin in other traffic.”
“No point anyway. He didn’t go back this way. He went on. Probably one of those survivalist types, or extreme hikers. Search and Rescue’s pulled two small groups out this winter. Dad told me. People think they know what it is-the wilderness, the winter. But they don’t. Most just don’t. He does, I think. Even stride, steady pace. He knows.”
“You should report the camera.”
“For what? Officer, somebody broke my ten-dollar padlock and turned off my camera. Organize a posse.”
“It doesn’t hurt to have it on record.”
“You’ve been away too long. By the time I get back home, my staff would’ve told the delivery guy and the volunteers, who’ll mention it to their boss, neighbor, coworker, and so on. It’s already on record. South Dakota-style.”
But she turned in the saddle, looked back the way they’d come.
Back at camp she unpacked a small laptop, sat on her pop-up stool, and set to work. Coop stayed in his area, turned on his camp stove, and made coffee. He’d forgotten the small pleasure of that, of brewing a pot of coffee over a camp stove, the extra kick from the taste of it. He sat enjoying it, watching while the water in the stream fought and shoved its way over rocks and ice.
From Lil’s neighborhood it was business, as far as he could tell. She spoke on the radio phone, working with someone on coordinates and data.
“If you share that coffee so I don’t have to make some right this minute, I’ll share my beef stew.” She glanced over his way. “It’s not from a can. It’s my mother’s.”
He sipped his coffee, glanced her way, and said nothing.
“I know what I said, but it’s stupid. Plus, I’m finished being annoyed with you. For now.”
She set the laptop on the stool after she rose, and went to her saddle-bags for the sealed bag of stew. “It’s a good trade.”
He couldn’t argue with that. In any case, he wanted to see what she was doing on the computer. He poured a second cup of coffee, doctored it as he remembered she liked it, then walked it over to her campsite.
They drank coffee standing on the snowy banks of the stream.
“The computer’s linked with the camera. I’ll get a signal and a picture when and if it activates.”
“Fancy.”
“Lucius rigged it. He’s our resident nerd genius. He can get a message to your grandparents if you want to check on them. But I told him to call them, or have Tansy call, and let them know we’re camped. Weather’s holding, so we should be good.”
She turned her head. Their eyes met, held. Something knocked hard and loud in his heart before she turned away. “It’s good coffee,” she said. “I’m going to settle my horse, then I’ll heat up that stew.”
She walked away and left him by the stream.
SHE DIDN’T WANT to feel this way. It annoyed her, frustrated her that she couldn’t just block what she didn’t want, just refuse it.
What was it about him? That hint of sad and mad, still there, still under the surface of him, just pulled at her.
Her feelings, she reminded herself. Her problem.
Was this how Jean-Paul felt? she wondered. Wanting, needing, and never quite getting the real thing in return? She should have every square inch of her ass kicked for making anyone else feel this helpless.
Maybe knowing she was still in love with Cooper Sullivan was her ass-kicking. God knew, it was painful.
A pity she didn’t have Jean-Paul’s option to go, just leave. Her life was here, roots, work, heart. So she’d just have to deal with it.
With her horse fed and watered, she heated the stew.
Dusk floated down as she carried the plate over to him.
“Should be hot enough. I’ve got work, so…”
“Fine. Thanks.” He took the plate, went back to reading his book by the dying light and the glow of his stove.
In the twilight, mule deer came to drink downstream. Lil could see their movements and shadows, hear the rustles and hoof strikes. She glanced at the computer, but there was no movement-yet-on the grassland.
When the moon rose, she took the computer and her lantern into her tent. Alone-she felt more alone with Coop there than she would have by herself-she listened to the night, to the wild. With the night music came the call of the hunter, the scream of the hunted. She heard her horse blow, whinny lightly to Coop’s.
The air was full of sound, she thought. But the two humans in it exchanged not a single word.
SHE AWOKE JUST before dawn, sure the computer had signaled. But a glance showed her only a blank screen. She sat up slowly, ears tuned. There was movement outside the tent, stealthy and human. In the dark, Lil visualized her drug gun and her rifle. She made the decision, and reached out to take the drug gun.