Prey (10 page)

“What’s your plan if this bear has gone to den in the time since you’ve been up there?”

Every sentence was like an interrogation with this man. Angie reached for a larger supply of patience. “If we don’t find fresh scat the first day or two, we move farther afield. A bear’s territory is
usually two to ten miles. This time of year they aren’t as active as they would have been earlier, but some are still moving around. The weather is still relatively mild, thank goodness. This time last year, we were already a foot deep in snow.” Last winter had been horrendous, beginning early and hanging on weeks later than normal, taking a huge chunk out of time when she normally had at least some photographers wanting to go out, and that had been another nail in her financial coffin.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Miss Powell, how long have you been guiding?”

“Most of my life. When I was a kid, I helped my dad, and as I got older I began taking out clients on my own.” That was all true; she kept to herself that her teenage solo trips had been mostly photography, some bird hunting. She had gone with her dad on a lot of his hunts, though, so she wasn’t a novice. He’d loved teaching her what he knew about reading sign, how to call game to the hunter’s location, and how to shoot. What she’d learned had gone deep; when he’d died and she moved back home, she’d stepped into the life with barely a pause.

“These are great biscuits,” Chad offered, making an obvious stab at changing the subject, and taking a big bite of biscuit to prove his statement. “Did your mother teach you how to cook?”

“No, I learned by trial and error, and there were a lot of errors along the way.” She put humor in her tone, and completely bypassed the mention of her mother because it was irrelevant. Some people had great mothers; she wasn’t one of them. She’d had a great dad, so fifty percent wasn’t bad. Life was what it was, and she’d been luckier than some.

She tried to leave again, but Mitchell Davis asked a few more pointed questions as if he were trying to trip her up. Chad kept awkwardly trying to change the subject and eventually earned himself a cold, pointed stare from Davis, which was when he gave up and simply sat there in squirming misery, eating some but otherwise withdrawn. Through it all, Angie stood without fidgeting
and answered Davis’s questions as if they were nothing out of the norm, keeping her expression bland, not letting him get to her.

She finally escaped to the kitchen, where she consoled herself with a big fat slice of chocolate cake, the first one cut. When it was time to serve the cake, she made sure Mitchell Davis’s slice was about two-thirds as thick as Chad’s, and served both of them with a smile before bugging out to the kitchen again. When they’d had time enough to finish, she stepped out and suggested everyone get a good night’s sleep, as they had to get an early start.

Chad immediately stood and began making a slightly incoherent good night, mixed with a thank you for the meal, but Davis interrupted with an abrupt, “I have some more work to do on the Internet before I turn in. You go on, Krugman.”

Chad immediately left, of course. Angie smiled at Davis. “It’ll take me about half an hour to clean up; I hope that’ll be long enough.” No way was she letting him stay in the house with her while she got ready for bed, and neither was she sitting up all hours with a long day—a long
week
—looming in front of her. Tonight would be the last good night’s sleep she’d get until she was back in her own bed. She didn’t think she had to worry about Davis being a repeat customer, so there was a limit to how much she’d tolerate from him.

He gave her one of his cold looks. “I need more time than that.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s all I can give you tonight. If you want to grab some time while I’m cooking breakfast in the morning, the door will be unlocked. I’ll be up at four in the morning.”

“This really is a second-class operation, isn’t it?” His lip curled in that faint sneer she’d seen on his face when he first looked around.

“I’m a hunting guide. This is my home, not a hotel. Some places, you wouldn’t have Internet available at all.” She gave him a sudden, concerned look. “You
are
an experienced hunter, aren’t you?” Her booking information indicated that he was, but after all
the borderline-rude remarks he’d made, she couldn’t resist making her own little jab at him. She’d be as polite as possible, but what was possible was steadily shrinking. No matter what, she wouldn’t let him bully her.

“I’ve probably been on more hunts than you have,” he snapped. “Regardless of that fairy tale about helping your father since you were a child.”

“It wasn’t a fairy tale, Mr. Davis. I’m sorry you don’t believe me. If it’ll give you more confidence, I’ll be glad to phone someone in the area for you to talk to, to verify my credentials.” She waited a moment, then picked up the tureen, which was still half-full of stew. “No? In that case, I have things to do.”

She carried the tureen into the kitchen; when she came back to finish clearing the table, the dining room was empty. Swiftly she loaded the dirty dishes on the tray she’d left there earlier. She felt safer in the kitchen, where she could easily get to a bunch of big knives, if necessary. Okay, that was melodramatic. If she truly believed Davis might attack her, she wouldn’t have let him stay in the house to use the Internet, and she wouldn’t be going off on a hunt. He had a nasty personality, but she wasn’t picking up any physically dangerous vibes from him. Not by so much as a glance had he indicated that he viewed her in a predatory way.

Of course, if she’d been a great judge of men, her wedding fiasco would never have happened, would it?

She finished as fast as possible, then sat down to rest for a minute while she watched the clock, waiting for the half-hour she’d given him to be up. Right on the minute, she got up, locked the kitchen door, then went through to the den, where he was tapping away on his laptop. “Time for lights out,” she said, keeping her tone easy.

The glance he threw her was furious, but he shut down the laptop and shoved it back into its case. “Good night,” she said as he went out the front door.

He didn’t reply. Shrugging, she closed the door behind him
and locked it. There were some outside lights she’d turned on to light their way to the guest cabins, and she’d leave those on all night in case something happened during the night. People did get sick, after all, or take a fall. She’d leave her bedroom door open, as usual, so she could hear if anyone knocked on the door during the night.

If anyone fell and broke a leg during the night, she hoped it was Mitchell Davis. No, scratch that. She hoped he went home at the end of the week safe and sound and happy, because he was undoubtedly the kind of bastard who would sue if he had an accident.

Yes, it was going to be a long, long week.

Angie hit the ground running the next morning. As soon as she stepped outside, she breathed a sigh of relief—the weather had turned milder during the night. The warm temperatures were coming in ahead of some rain, but it still felt good. According to the long-range forecast, no really cold weather or snow was forecast for the next ten days, which was great.

By five o’clock she’d fed and watered the horses, hooked the trailer to the truck, had all their supplies and the horses loaded. Davis hadn’t shown up to get in any of his oh-so-important Internet work, so she figured it hadn’t been that important and he’d just been making an ass of himself, which, considering how close his default starting point was to asshood, hadn’t been a difficult thing to do.

For breakfast she made a pan of biscuits, put steak slices in half of the biscuits and ham slices in the other half, wrapped them individually in foil, and filled several thermoses with coffee. Some packs of sugar, artificial sweetener, and powdered creamer completed her preparations. After making sure Chad and Davis were
waiting at the truck, at five forty-five, she stepped out the front door and locked it.

As she approached the truck she saw that their duffel bags were on the ground; before she could ask about them, Davis unlocked their SUV and swung open the back hatch, and he and Chad loaded their duffels. “We, uh, we decided to follow you, then when the hunt is over we can leave straight for Butte,” Chad explained, his tone of voice sheepish.

“That’s logical,” Angie said easily. “But if it’s too late and you want to spend the night here before going home, you’re certainly welcome. It’s up to you.”

She took a wrapped biscuit and a thermos of coffee for herself, and handed the rest over to Chad. “Breakfast, gentlemen. Let’s get on the road.” They got in their SUV, with Davis driving again, and Angie climbed into the cab of her truck. She wasn’t unhappy with this change of plans. This gave her some peace and quiet, and space to think. She turned on the radio and punched the button for the CD player, and the soothing sound of her instrumental music filled the cab. Nice. This was much better than trying to make conversation. She poured herself some coffee and pulled out, accelerating smoothly so the horses wouldn’t be jerked around.

The sun wouldn’t rise for another hour and a half, so by the time it was daylight they’d be at their drive destination. They’d unload the horses, saddle up, and be on their way. She liked driving in the dark early hours, liked the sense of getting a jump on the day, and watching the darkness slowly fade away as more and more of the incredible landscape became visible. The music didn’t intrude, just laid another layer of beauty under the early morning. Very briefly she thought about Dare and his hardball real estate tactics, but she refused to let herself start stewing about it. This time belonged to her clients, and she refused to shortchange them by not paying full attention to what she was doing, even if it was nothing more exacting than driving.

Right on time, she pulled in to Ray Lattimore’s place; he didn’t have a big spread, but he took in a little extra money by providing parking space for guided parties and hikers. Angie gladly paid him. Even if he’d charged twice what he did, it was worth it to not worry about her truck being broken into or her trailer stolen.

Ray came out to meet them, show her where to park. Davis and Chad stood to the side while Ray helped her unload the horses, which was nice of him because he certainly didn’t have to, but he gave her two clients a discerning look and without a word made himself useful.

The four horses nervously crab-hopped around, knowing that the end of the ride meant exercise. She was using the biggest one, a sure-footed dark bay named Samson, as a packhorse. If he’d been a suitable mount she’d have put Chad on him simply because he was so sure-footed, but Samson had more bad habits than the Rolling Stones—all of them. Put together. He hated being ridden, he bucked and crabbed and shied, he tried to bite, he blew his belly out when you tried to saddle him, he’d try to brush his rider off against a bush, a tree, a building, anything that was handy. But he was okay with carrying a load, and he was strong enough that he could carry more than the average horse.

She’d never admit it to anyone, but she was a bit fond of the cantankerous bastard. He was what he was, he knew what he’d do and wouldn’t do, and the two of them got along fine as long as neither she nor anyone else tried to ride him.

The other three horses, a light bay, a chestnut, and a roan, had their own foibles but at least they’d tolerate riders. The horse she’d chosen to ride, the roan, was more fractious than the other two, which was why she’d chosen him for herself. She’d had him the shortest length of time and hadn’t yet learned all his tricks, but if he decided to bite or buck, better it was with her than with a client. The chestnut was the most docile, so she put Chad on him. The light bay fell somewhere between the chestnut and the roan in temperament.

“Supposed to rain tonight, tomorrow,” Ray said to her as he closed the gate on the trailer and latched it. “Not good hunting weather.”

“I know.” The rain wasn’t good for people, that is; the animals hunted and fed regardless of whether or not it was raining. “We’ll get in some time today, though.”

“Good luck. Hope I see you back here tomorrow.”

She flashed him a smile. “That
would
be nice, but even if they get a bear today, I’d rather not ride back here in the rain.” The weather report she’d seen called for thunderstorms, which would be unusual for this time of year—unusual but not unheard of. One of the worst rainstorms she could remember had happened in November, when she was in grade school. Rain was almost always welcome, though, regardless of the time of year.

She began saddling the horses, and again Ray helped her, because Chad was watching them with a completely befuddled look on his face and Davis was scowling as he punched numbers on his cell phone, as if he could force it to have service out here if he just hit the magic combination of buttons.

“Can that guy ride?” Ray asked under his breath, nodding toward Chad.

“He can manage. I’m putting him on the chestnut.” She was in the process of saddling the chestnut as she spoke. She eyed Chad’s legs, made the stirrups just a little longer than if she’d been saddling a horse for herself.

“That’s rough country you’re heading into. Hope he can stay in the saddle. What about the other guy?”

“He said he’s experienced. I’m taking him at his word.” There was nothing else she could do. Make Davis demonstrate his riding ability, maybe? Sure. She could really see that happening.

Next Samson was loaded down with their supplies. The big boy blew out a breath and turned his head to nudge her rather gently, considering his size. She lightly slapped his neck. “Are you
anxious to get on the trail?” she asked him, and he blew again as if he understood her.

While she was saddling Samson, Davis and Chad had finally begun doing something, taking their rifles from their cases, loading them, and sliding them into the scabbards on the right of the saddles. She had sighted her own rifle in the day before, and hoped they had done the same before shipping the weapons; they would do some shooting to re-sight, but with luck they’d need only a couple of shots. She hated to use more ammunition than necessary.