Quinn (3 page)

This was his pack. The one he’d been studying for more than five years. When the young male had been little more than a pup and Quinn an eager graduate student, he had implanted a tracking device under the animal’s skin that allowed him to monitor every movement. When the wolf matured and became an alpha male with his own pack, he’d become the perfect subject for a scientific study. The publication of Quinn’s papers chronicling the behavior of the pack had made him one of the preeminent naturalists in the country. His advice was often sought by scientists and ranchers in search of the latest up-to-the-minute information regarding wolves in the wild.

Now, with his latest wilderness trek behind him, Quinn gathered his notes, securing them inside his backpack along with his bedroll. He ran a hand through the growth of beard that darkened his face. With any luck he would be home in time to help with some of the ranch chores before breakfast. Afterward, he intended to take a long, hot bath before tackling this beard.

The thought of a hot meal and a steaming tub had him moving out at a fast pace.

The sun had been up for nearly an hour when Quinn paused at the top of the hill to gaze down at the ranch that was home to three generations of Conways. It was a sight that always stirred his blood. The house and outbuildings of weathered wood and stone looked as though they had been here as long as the mountains. The hills and valleys dotted with lowing cattle. The horses in the corral, tossing
their heads and occasionally running full out, as though daring the others to race them.

A smile of contentment creased his face as he approached the horse barn and saw the big door standing open. A sure sign that his father was already hard at work mucking stalls.

Quinn stepped inside and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

“Pa.”

When there was no reply, he turned toward the stall of his father’s favorite gelding, Scout.

The horse was standing very still, head down, as though watching something in the corner of his stall.

Quinn paused to run a hand along the gelding’s muzzle. “Hey, big fellow…”

It took a moment for the dark form slumped in the corner of the stall to register in Quinn’s brain. In that first second, as he took in the familiar parka, the solid, sturdy figure of his beloved father, Quinn’s mind rejected the truth, even while the natural instinct for survival kicked into high gear.

“Pa.” He was down on his knees in an instant, his hand at his father’s throat.

Eyes fierce, he studied the sickly pale flesh, so cold to the touch.

At last, finding a faint pulse, he sucked in a breath and reached for his cell phone.

Alive. Alive.

For now, for this one moment, it was all that mattered. It meant that they still had a fighting chance.

At the voice on the other end he said tersely, “Quinn Conway. I need a medevac at the Conway ranch right away.”

He listened, then replied, “Not a ranch accident. He’s on the ground. Weak pulse. No response. Possible heart attack.”

He rang off, before dialing the number up at the house.

He heard the voice of old Ela, who had been with the family for as long as Quinn could recall. “Ela. I’m out in the barn. I need Big Jim.”

He listened, then swore under his breath when he learned that his grandfather was in high country with the wranglers. “Have Phoebe come out to the barn right away.”

Phoebe Hogan had been twenty-three when her cowboy husband had died in a flaming truck accident, leaving her the impossible task of running their hardscrabble ranch alone. She’d been hired as a temporary housekeeper and surrogate mother shortly after Seraphine went missing and stayed on, easing three boys through the loss of their mother, helping them navigate the minefield of awkward teen years. As the months had turned into years, Phoebe had sold her own ranch and remained with the Conways, serving the family with absolute devotion.

Minutes later she stepped into the barn, holding the lapels of the oversize parka she’d grabbed from a hook in the mudroom.

“Welcome home, Quinn. What do you need?”

As she spoke, she stepped closer and gasped at the sight of Cole lying deathly still in the hay, wrapped in Quinn’s parka for warmth.

Her hand flew to her mouth as she knelt beside Cole. She looked up at Quinn. “What…?” It was all she could manage.

“I found him in Scout’s stall. I’ve already phoned for a
medevac. I need you to contact Big Jim and my brothers. As soon as I get word from the doctors in Jackson Hole, I’ll call.” Quinn’s tone was gruff. “I’ll leave it to you to tell Ela.”

“I’ll take care of it. You take care of him.” She nodded toward Cole and took hold of his hands, squeezing gently before getting to her feet.

Quinn was grateful for her quiet acceptance. Some women might have wept or asked a dozen questions, none of which he could answer. Phoebe, though she was as stunned by all this as he was, could be counted on to hold things together and do whatever necessary until this thing was resolved.

This thing
. The very thought of what might have taken his father down had Quinn’s nerves quivering.

When the helicopter arrived to ferry Cole Conway to the hospital, Quinn helped the medics lift his father onto the gurney and remained by his side throughout the long flight.

As he sat beside the eerily still figure of his father, grasping his cold hand in both of his, Quinn was reminded once again of the incredible strength Cole Conway had found while drowning in despair. The strength to continue working the land, raising his boys, while grieving the loss of the only woman he’d ever loved. And now, Quinn could feel that strength slowly ebbing.

Quinn leaned close to whisper, “Stay with me, Pa.”

Had there been a flicker of movement behind those closed lids?

Quinn pressed his mouth to Cole’s ear. “We need you, Pa. I need you to stay strong.”

Cole’s fingers flexed, moved, and Quinn gave a long,
deep sigh as the helicopter began its descent. “Hang on, Pa. We’re almost there.”

As he moved along beside the medics rushing his father into the emergency room of the hospital, Quinn was stopped at the door by a young woman who hurried from behind her nurse’s station.

“You can’t go in there. Only medical personnel go beyond these…”

Her words trailed off. Maybe it was the size of the man, who stood easily six and a half feet tall. More imposing than his size, however, was his appearance. Even in this remote part of the country, it wasn’t often that she saw a man who resembled a grizzly. Thick, dark hair curled over the collar of a frayed wool shirt. His eyes, narrowed on her with fierce determination, were so gray and piercing, they reminded her of a feral animal.

Quinn brushed past her as though she were invisible. Once inside, as a team of doctors and nurses began working over his father, Quinn thought about the dark cloud that seemed to cast its pall over his family and this land, and braced himself for whatever was to come.

He’d never had a chance to say good-bye to his mother. Fate couldn’t be cruel enough to hand him a repeat of that heartbreak. Not that he had any illusions about life being fair. He was a man who believed in charting his own course in life while playing the cards dealt him.

Still, he wasn’t about to leave his father’s side until Cole was able to walk out of this place under his own steam.

“Good job, as always, Josh.” Henry Townsend, a burly medic with AMT, Air Medical Transport, shook Josh
Conway’s hand before slogging through waist-deep snow to the waiting helicopter.

Within minutes the blades of the copter were spraying blinding snow with all the force of a blizzard as the vehicle lifted high above the mountain.

Josh Conway shaded the sun from his eyes and watched until the helicopter dipped out of sight.

He was bone tired. He’d spent the past forty hours crawling around snow-covered Gannett Peak in the Wind River Mountain Range searching for a lost climber. He’d found the man, a member of a six-man team who had been climbing the summit and had been separated from his friends, wedged between two high, sheer cliffs.

It had taken another six hours for a helicopter crew to arrive and cut the man free of his icy prison.

Now, with the noise of the copter fading in the distance, Josh wanted nothing more than to return to his family ranch, take a long, hot shower, and fall into a real bed.

Not that he minded the work. Though he was a rancher, he was also one of a select few climbers who knew these mountains well enough to be trusted to traverse them in any weather. When the usual rescue crews failed, they turned to Josh to do the impossible. He rarely failed in his mission.

Tall, athletic, and, best of all, fearless, he was perfectly suited to pit his skills against the fickle mountains that had been his playground for his entire life. Because of his success rate in persevering when others gave up, Josh Conway had become something of a legend in this part of the country.

By the time he reached his vehicle parked at a base in the foothills, his stomach was grumbling, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten a thing since the previous night.

He climbed inside his truck and tipped up a bottle of water. He’d left his phone here, knowing the storm on the mountains rendered service useless. As he began scrolling through the missed calls on his phone, there was only one message he bothered to play.

When he heard Big Jim’s voice, he rewound and played it again.

“Boyo, I know you’re somewhere in the mountains, but as soon as you get this message, hurry to the hospital in Jackson Hole. That’s where they’ve airlifted your father.”

That’s where they’ve airlifted your father.

Those words, and the tone in which they were spoken, had his blood freezing in his veins.

Cole Conway had never, as far as Josh could recall, been to the hospital.

Josh put his truck in gear and headed toward the town hundreds of miles from here. With every mile he found himself praying that he would get there in time.

In time for what? He refused to allow himself to think about the possibilities. For now, he would drive like the devil was chasing him. In truth, it was a devil. A devil in the form of an icy band of fear that was tightening around his heart with every mile.

Jake Conway stepped out of Lambert Hall, where he’d just spent the past two hours in an intense study session led by Dr. Chason, preparing for the grueling exams that would begin in another week.

He glanced up at the fragrant pink buds of the apple trees that lined the walkway. After his years here at Michigan State, studying veterinary medicine, he was constantly amazed by how quickly springtime arrived in the
Midwest. Back home there would still be snow on much of the ground.

He waved to friends as he made his way across the campus. Even to the casual observer, he never gave the appearance of being just another college student. Maybe it was the lean, rugged, rancher’s body encased in well-worn jeans. Or the ever-present cowboy boots. Or the wide-brimmed Western hat worn as comfortably as his friends wore their baseball caps.

To his professors, he’d proven himself to be a natural in his chosen field of study. As a working rancher, he was comfortable with the life-and-death cycle of animals large and small. The pain and mess associated with birth, which often distracted first-year students, had been second nature to Jake Conway. As for administering antibiotics to bawling heifers, he’d been doing that since he was ten.

Now that he was free of the study session, he reached into his shirt pocket and turned on his phone. Dr. Chason had threatened murder and mayhem to anyone whose phone dared to interrupt a single word of his lecture.

Jake smiled as the numbers began to scroll and was about to return the call from his roommate when he spotted the call from home.

He was crossing the street, but as the message began he stopped dead in his tracks.

Pa. In the hospital.

The sound of a horn, followed by the screech of brakes, had him looking up in confusion.

He hastily retreated to the sidewalk, then played the message a second time.

His frantic call home was answered by a machine. That had him dashing back to his apartment in a fog. It
took hours to book a flight to Wyoming, drive to the airport, and then wait. And worry. And pray.

Quinn had been awake for more than twenty hours, refusing food or the offer of a room in a nearby inn. Instead he remained at his father’s bedside while monitors buzzed and beeped, doctors poked and probed, and nurses silently entered to check vital signs before slipping away to write their reports.

When Cole Conway finally opened his eyes, the first person he saw was his oldest son.

“Where the hell am I?”

“Hospital. In Jackson Hole.”

“How’d I get here?”

“Medevac. I came home from the hills and found you slumped over in Scout’s stall.”

Cole let that sink in a moment before saying, “I don’t remember. But it sounds serious. I hope I don’t look as bad as you.”

That had Quinn smiling. “You look good, Pa.”

“And you look like hell. What’s that damnable noise?”