Alphas in the Wild (8 page)

“Okay, I can look through the tents more thoroughly later.”

“Let’s get moving.” Her gaze zeroed in on him. “Actually, I’m glad to have something to do. It’s better than waiting around until six to turn the phone back on.”

“Know what you mean.” He reached for her, catching a shoulder as she moved past him. “I know we have work to do. And we might not get out of here alive, but I want to tell you something important.”

She swung around to face him. Something about his tone brought her emotions close to the surface. “What?”

He smiled. “Ach,
mo ghrá
, mellow out a bit. Let a fellow make a proclamation of love without feeling it’s an imposition.

“I fell in love with you when we were just kids. Even then you looked like one of those ancient Valkyries, with all that blonde hair and your golden eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like that on anyone.” Color rose in his face, but he kept talking. “It’s not just your beauty, though. You’re strong and self-sufficient. Not afraid to tackle anything on your own terms. It’s why we butted heads so often. That, and our Irish tempers and my Druid vows.” The rosy hue deepened, bringing a golden tone to his tanned face. “I want to marry you,
mo ghrá
. As soon as we can. I’m not making the same mistakes I made ten years ago.”

Moira felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile. Joy whooshed through her. She reached out a gloved hand to stroke his face. “I’d like that too,” she murmured. “It’ll be a few months, though, until the divorce is final.”

“Not a problem. After all the years I’ve already waited, a few months are nothing.” He closed a hand over hers. “We can leave now. After you.”

She led the way outside, then stopped abruptly. “I probably should tell you we haven’t seen the last of Ryan.”

“I didn’t think we had.” Tim laughed, but it held a bitter edge. “If I’d had a woman like you and fucked up as badly as he did, I’d want to do something about it too.”

A lone coyote howl filled the air. Answering wails rose from all directions. Moira knew the wind could deceive, but it was clear the local cleanup crew were on their way. They had to get the other mules out of Death Corral. And damned fast. “We need to hurry.”

He moved in front of her, leading the way along a trail he’d already made through calf-deep snow. “Do you think they’ll be okay on their own?”

“We’ll turn them loose. They ought to be fine. Mules are way stronger than horses.”

“What about all those feed sacks?”

“Not a problem. Coyotes won’t eat them. But we ought to move them into one of the tents so they don’t get buried.”

* * * *

I
t was nearly time to turn the sat phone on again. Skittish from what happened to one of their own, the mules had been reluctant to do anything. It took a great deal of coaxing, cajoling, and handfuls of grain to get them to step over their fallen comrade and out of the enclosure. Despite the cold, sweat ran down Moira’s sides. She had hold of one end of an eighty-pound feed sack, the last one they needed to move under shelter, when she heard voices. Jake, Mitch, and another mule stumbled out of the whiteout.

“Never mind,” Tim grunted, hefting the sack to one shoulder. “I can get this. Do what you need to.”

Moira stomped over to the two AWOLs. “Get the packs off that animal and his halter, then turn him loose. When you’re done, help us move sleeping bags and clothes into the supply tent.”

“What happened to the corral?” Jake sounded wiped. He had an arm around Mitch, supporting him.

“One of the mules is dead. It’s pretty bloody.” She didn’t have to say anything else. Jake had been a miner before he’d opted for the relatively softer life of going on Park Service work details. Even though they didn’t pay him much, they fed him. He’d told her once that three squares counted for quite a bit when you’d spent a lot of your life hungry.

She shone her headlight on her watch. “I need to turn the phone on. Talk with you later.”

The sat phone rang nearly as soon as she powered it on. It didn’t surprise her. Nor did the sound of John’s voice. “Report,” he said brusquely.

“Two trail crew accounted for. Nine missing.”

“Mules?”

“Did we start with twelve?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, we have five here. Six if you count the dead one. So that means six are missing.”

“One of the mules is dead?” John sounded shocked. “What happened?”

“Long story, John. And it doesn’t matter. We freed the others.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ll expect a full report once you’re back in the office. As you’ve probably figured out, storm’s too bad to send a chopper. Soon as it quits snowing, we’ll come for you.”

“Any idea when the weather’s supposed to clear?” She tried to keep her voice from wavering. It wouldn’t do to let her boss know how frightened she was.

“Not for another couple of days. Frankly, I don’t get it. This weather was
not
in the forecast.” Concern—and worry—permeated his words. “You have plenty of food and fuel. Just pay attention to protocols, and you should be fine.”

She sucked in a breath. Two days could be a long time with her soon-to-be ex-husband on the prowl. “When would you like me to turn the phone on again, sir?”

“No point in running down the batteries. Tomorrow night at this time should be fine. Oh, and Moira, if you can get a fire going, by all means do so.”

“Thanks,” she murmured. John really was trying. It was a major concession for him to give her permission to have an open fire above ten thousand feet, where they were normally forbidden.

“You’re welcome. Take care of yourself. I already lost two rangers this season. Don’t wim to lose another.”

The empty hum of satellites buzzed against her ear. She powered down the phone and buried it in her pack. Moira looked around the tent where she and Tim had kissed and snuggled. A tender glow started in her belly, radiating outward. He was such a wonderful man, kindhearted and sensitive. She wondered if she could possibly be lucky enough for the love between them to take root and grow this time, without all the pain and hurt and endless arguments.

Hope I live long enough to find out.

She grabbed the sleeping bags, shouldered her pack, and moved through the storm to the supply tent. It would be a tight fit, with the four of them and most of the community gear, but until she was certain the coyotes would be satisfied with the sacrificial mule, she wasn’t taking any chances.

When she got inside, battening the door against wind that had to be gusting at close to forty miles an hour, she saw Tim bent over Mitch. “What’s wrong?”

“Hypothermia, frostbite. Too much booze and dope. Not enough food or water. Probably has some kind of viral hepatitis to boot. He’s pretty yellow. Whichever MD cleared him for this work detail should have his license suspended.” Tim sounded angry—and troubled. “I got his clothes off and wrapped two down bags around him with hot water bottles inside, but he’s delirious. I need him awake enough to eat and drink since I obviously don’t have any IV equipment here.”

Wending her way among stacks of gear, she dropped her pack and the sleeping bags on a cot. An unpleasant odor from Mitch’s unwashed body permeated the already stale air in the tent. She could only imagine what it would be like by morning. She walked over to Tim and peered down at Mitch. He thrashed weakly on a cot. His color was horrid, face a ghastly shade of gray. The whites of his eyes were lemon-colored.

“I’m surprised he made it back here,” she said.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“There should be either a full EMT or paramedic pack in with the supplies. Do you want it?”

Something painfully close to hope flared in Tim’s eyes. “That would be great. Any medical supplies are better than what I have, which is nothing.”

Turning up the beam of her headlamp, Moira rummaged through boxes stacked along one side of the tent. It took her a few minutes, but she located the crate of medical supplies and carried it over to Tim. “Where’s Jake?”

“Bringing stuff from the other tents. Did you talk to the Park Service?”

“Uh-huh.” She stopped, trying to figure out which piece of bad news to deliver first.

“And? Come on, Moira, don’t make me work to get information. I’m having a hard enough time.”

She felt instantly contrite. “Sorry. No chopper till after the storm, and that’s at least two days—”

“What?” Blue eyes flashing, he got to his feet, took her arm, and pulled her away from Mitch’s cot. “Barring a miracle, he’ll be dead long before then.”

“Him and the others out on the trail,” she muttered.

Tim raked his hands through his hair. “I feel goddamned helpless.”

She put her hands on his shoulders and met his gaze. “We aren’t helpless. This is what happens when you leave civilization. You have to rely on your wits. If you’d somehow missed meeting up with me, you’d be in a world of hurt. Not dead, but headed in that direction.”

“That’s not helping.”

“Maybe not, but you need to hear it anyway. Modern life has lulled us into a sense of complacency...” She felt like she was being patronizing, so she shook her head and started over. “Things are more...real out here. More immediate. But more dangerous too. You realize what a slender margin separates being alive from falling prey to something that can kill you. It puts a finer edge on things—”

Jake shoved his way into the tent, his arms full of clothing and sleeping bags. “Whew. Stinks in here. How’s Mitch, Doc?”

“Not good.”

Jake dropped his things onto a pile of clothing. “Shit. I was afraid of that. He was pretty far gone when I found him. But he sort of rallied. And he knew who I was. Damn.” He hunkered next to his friend. Tugging an arm out of the sleeping bag, he took Mitch’s hand and stroked it.

It was such an oddly tender gesture from the burly mountain man that Moira felt the quick bite of tears. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t afford to be emotional. The stakes were too high. Jake tucked Mitch’s arm back into the bag, straightened, and started out the door. She called him back. “We have plenty of warm things in here. HQ said we could have a fire—”

Jake’s braying laughter drowned out the rest of her words. “Damn straight of them,” he sputtered after he could talk again. “Jesus Christ himself couldn’t get anything to burn out there. ’Sides, even if the snow let up, wind’s brutal.”

A chortle bubbled up from somewhere deep in Moira, followed by another. She tried to hold them in, but failed. Soon she was howling just like Jake had been. The whole situation was black humor at its finest. The storm, the birds, the lost trail crew. Permission to light a fire under impossible conditions.

“I’ll be fine, really I will. Got to get some air,” she managed. Moira stepped outside. Snow blew in her face, effectively blinding her. She raised her hands to wipe it away and realized she’d left her gloves in the tent.

Christ! I’m really losing it.

Feeling disgusted actually had a salutary effect. The craziness left as quickly as it had come. She inhaled deeply, letting the chilly air clear her mind.

Just before she let herself back inside, she heard a raven caw, and her blood congealed in her veins.

T
im dug through the EMT kit, a nearby candle lantern providing a thin beam of light. “Who the fuck packed this? An extra from Catch 22?” He held up a steri-pack that contained an intravenous needle and another with tubing. “What good are these without saline?”

“I think they only pack that when they expect to have a paramedic along.”

“What are you? Doesn’t the Park Service require you to have some medical training?” Judging from the bitten-off tone of his words, he was having a hard time controlling his frustration.

“Yes, but I’m only an EMT with a Wilderness First Responder certification.”

“Oh.” He sucked in a breath. “Sorry I was short with you. I might be able to save this man, if I had what I needed.”

Turning away from her, he extracted a tube and squeezed it into Mitch’s mouth. It was probably the glucose paste they used for diabetics. The stove was going, so she pinned the door flap open a few inches for better airflow. Hopefully, the raven she’d heard wouldn’t take it as an invitation. Tim pulled poly bottles out of Mitch’s sleeping bag, refilled them with hot water, and tucked them back next to the comatose man.

Now that she had time to think, Moira couldn’t figure out what had happened to the rest of the trail crew. Only some of them were newbies. Everyone else would’ve known to turn tail and run once it started snowing hard. Which meant they should have been back hours ago. It was only about six miles to the Muir Trail Junction. If what Jake told her was accurate, the crew had been working just a couple of miles from camp. For an ugly moment, she pictured the dead mule and wondered if Ryan was deranged enough to send his bird hit squad after her people. It made sense, in a sick sort of way, for him to pick off anyone who might help her protect herself.

She swallowed hard, fury battling with horror. If he’d really done something like that, she’d see him hung from the nearest yardarm.

“Goddammit. No, you don’t,” Tim yelled. Moira twirled to look at him. Tim pounded on Mitch’s thin chest. He tilted his chin, fished a plastic protector out of the EMT kit, and started rescue breathing.

“Need help?” Jake was by the cot in an instant.

Tim eyed the other man. “Do you know how to do this?”

Jake shrugged. “Sort of. We all had to take a basic first aid course to be Park Service workers.”

“Okay. You do the breathing. I’ll do chest compressions. He looks like he has osteoporosis. Got to be careful. If I hit him too hard, I’ll break a bone.”

Moira bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. Mitch had been close to worthless on two other crews she’d overseen, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to die. Needing to do something to distract herself from the thumping and wheezing coming from Mitch’s cot, she organized the boxes and piles of gear, sorted finger food for dinner, and hauled out the big pot to start melting snow for drinking water, since the gallon jugs were well on their way to being frozen.

Time dripped past, punctuated by a wet, gurgling that didn’t sound good.