Black Hills, Page 21

  He glanced at the table, noted the laptop, a scatter of files, and a glass of red wine. He picked up the bottle on the counter, approved the label, and allowed himself a change of mind.

  He got a wineglass out of one of her cabinets.

  “Just make yourself the hell at home.”

  “Willy came by to see me.” He poured himself a glass of wine, sampled it, then set the glass down to strip off his coat.

  “Then I assume we both got the same information, and there’s nothing to talk about. I’m working, Coop.”

  “You’re frustrated and you’re pissed off. I don’t blame you. The fact is, they don’t have much to work with, and none of the lines of investigation are going anywhere. That doesn’t mean they stop, just that they might have to change the angle.”

  He picked up the wine again, glanced around the room while he drank. “Don’t you eat?”

  “Yes, often when I’m hungry. Let’s just say I appreciate you coming by to reassure me the wheels of justice are turning, and add that I’m aware Willy is doing and will do his best. There. We talked.”

  “Do you have a reason to be pissed at me, or is it just in general?”

  “We’ve had some long and very physical days around here. I’m on deadline on an article I’m writing. Writing articles helps pay for that wine you’re drinking, among other things. I’ve just been told that it’s very unlikely that whoever shot a cougar that I caged will be identified or apprehended. You waltz in here when I’m trying to work and help yourself to the wine this article will help replace. So we’ll say it’s in general with a special section just for you.”

  “I didn’t waltz.” He turned and opened the refrigerator. “Shit, Lil,” he said after a short exam, “even I do better than this.”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Finding something to fix for dinner.”

  “Get out of my refrigerator.”

  In response, he simply opened the freezer. “Figures. Bunch of girl frozen meals. Well, at least there’s frozen pizza.”

  He thought he could hear her teeth grinding all the way across the room. It was, he admitted, oddly satisfying.

  “In about two minutes I’m going to get my rifle and shoot you in the ass.”

  “No you’re not. But in about fifteen minutes, according to the directions on this box, you’ll be eating pizza. It might help your mood. You get some itinerant volunteers,” he continued as he switched on the oven. “Some one- or two-timers.”

  Annoyance didn’t seem to work. She tried sulking. “So?”

  “It’s a good way to scope out the setup here, the staff, the routines, the layout. A lot of the farms and businesses around here do the same. Hire somebody on in season, a few days, a few weeks, whatever works. I’m going to do the same in another month or so.”

  He put the unboxed pizza in, set the timer.

  “What difference does it make? Willy thinks he’s done and gone.”

  “Willy could be right. Or he could be wrong. If a man knew what he was doing, and wanted to, he could make a nice shelter for himself in the hills. They’re pocketed with caves.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better.”

  “I want you to be careful. If you feel too much better, you won’t be.” He brought the bottle over, topped off her wine. “What’s the article about?”

  She picked up the wine, scowled into it, then sipped. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “You’re writing about that? Can I read it?”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you,” she repeated, “until when and if I decide otherwise. Tossing a frozen pizza in the oven isn’t going to make me feel warm and fuzzy about you.”

  “If I was after warm and fuzzy, I’d get a puppy. I’m going to sleep with you, Lil. But you can take some time to get used to the idea.”

  “You had me once, Cooper, and you could’ve kept me. You dumped me.”

  His expression flattened out. “We remember it different.”

  “If you think we can just go back—”

  “I don’t. I don’t want to go back. But I’m looking at you, Lil, and I know we’re not done. You know it, too.”

  He sat on the bench with her, sipped his wine, and poked at the photos she had fanned out beside the files. “Is this South America?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s it like going places like that?”

  “Exciting. Challenging.”

  He nodded. “And now you’ll write a story about going to the Andes to track cougar.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then where?”

  “Where what?”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have any plans right now. This trip was the big one for me. What I got out of it personally, professionally, what I can generate from it with articles, papers, lectures. The research, the findings.” She moved her shoulders. “I can channel a lot of that into benefits for the refuge. The refuge is the priority.”

  He set the photos back down to look at her. “It’s good to have priorities.”

  He moved in slowly, giving her time—this time—to resist or decide. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to stop him, only watched him the way she might a coiled snake.

  Warily.

  He caught her chin in a light grip, and took her mouth.

  She wouldn’t have said he was gentle, or tender. No, she wouldn’t have called the kiss, the tone, the intent either of those. But there wasn’t the rough fire he’d shown her before. This time, he kissed her like a man who’d decided to take his time. Who was confident he could.

  And though his fingers were easy on her face, she knew—didn’t he intend she would?—that they could tighten at his whim. That he could plunder instead of seduce.

  And knowing it sparked excitement in her blood.

  Hadn’t she always preferred the wild to the tame?

  He felt her give, just a little. Just a little more. Her lips moved against his, warmed and softened, and her breath hummed low in her throat.

  He eased away as slowly as he’d eased to her. “No,” he said, “we’re not done.” The oven timer dinged, and he smiled. “But the pizza is.”

  12

  He’d spent worse nights, Coop thought, as he added logs to the fire in Lil’s living room. But it had been a lot of years since he’d made do with a chilly room and a lumpy sofa. And even then, he hadn’t had the additional discomfort of knowing the woman he wanted slept one floor above.

  His choice, he reminded himself. She’d told him to go; he’d refused. So he’d gotten a blanket, a pillow, and a sofa six inches too short for him. And it had very likely been for nothing.

  She was probably right. She was perfectly safe on her own, in her cabin. Locked doors and a loaded rifle were solid safety factors.

  But once he’d told her he intended to stay, he hadn’t been able to back down.

  And it was damn weird, he mused, as he walked back to the kitchen to put on coffee, to be wakened in the dark by a jungle cat’s roar.

  Damn weird.

  He supposed she was used to it, as he hadn’t heard her stir, even when he’d been compelled to pull on his boots and go out to check.

  The only things he’d discovered were she needed more security lights, and that even if a man knew there were sturdy barriers, the roars and growls in the dark could send an atavistic finger of fear up his spine.

  She was stirring now, he thought. He’d heard her footsteps above, and the clink of the pipes as she turned on the shower.

  It would be light soon, another frigid, white-drenched dawn. Her people would be heading in, and he had his own work to see to.

  He hunted up eggs and bread, a frying pan. She might not agree, but he figured she owed him a hot breakfast for the guard duty. He was slapping a couple of fried egg sandwiches together when she walked in. She’d bundled her hair up, wore a flannel shirt over a thermal. And looked no more pleased to see him this morni
ng than she had the night before.

  “We need some ground rules,” she began.

  “Fine. Write me up a list. I’ve got to get to work. I made two if you want the other,” he added as he wrapped his sandwich in a napkin.

  “You can’t just come here and take over.”

  “Put that at the top of the list,” he suggested as she followed him into the living room. He passed the sandwich from hand to hand as he shrugged on his coat. “You smell good.”

  “You need to respect my privacy, and get it through your head I don’t need or want a guard dog.”

  “Uh-huh.” He settled his hat on his head. “You’re going to need to bring in more firewood. I’ll see you later.”

  “Coop. Damn it!”

  He turned at the door. “You matter. Deal with it.”

  He bit into his sandwich as he strode to his truck.

  She was right about the ground rules, he thought. Most things worked better with rules, or guidelines anyway. There was right and there was wrong, and a big, wide mass of gray between them. Still, it was best to know which shades of gray worked for any particular situation.

  She was entitled to set some rules, as long as she understood he’d be exploring the gray.

  He ate his egg sandwich as he drove the looping road to the gate, and setting rules, guidelines, and the mystery of just what he wanted from Lil aside, he mentally arranged what he had to do that day.

  Stock to be fed, stalls mucked out. Then getting his grandparents out on horseback would be an accomplishment. He needed to get into town for some supplies, do some paperwork at the storefront. If they didn’t have customers who wanted a trail guide, he’d get Gull to work on some of the tack.

  He wanted to work out a basic plan, cost analysis, and feasibility of adding pony rides to the business. Take a few horses like Little Sis, he mused, walk them around a fenced track for a half hour, and you could . . .

  His mind switched off business and to alert.

  The corpse was draped over the gate. Below it, blood stained the hardpack of snow. A couple of vultures were already pecking for breakfast while more circled overhead.

  Coop hit the horn to scatter the birds as he slowed to scan the trees and brush, the road beyond the gate. In the dim, early light, his headlights washed over the dead wolf, turned its dead eyes eerily green.

  Coop leaned over, opened his glove compartment, and took out his 9mm and his flashlight. Climbing out of the truck, he shined the light on the ground. There were footprints, of course. His own would be among them from the night before, when he’d opened the gate.

  He saw none he judged as newer than his own on the inside. That, he supposed was something. Still, he walked in his own tracks to reach the wolf.

  It had taken two shots—one mid-body, one head—to bring the wolf down, as far as Coop could see on a visual. The body was cold to the touch, and the small blood pool frozen.

  It told him the message had been delivered several hours before.

  He flipped the safety back on his gun, pushed it into his pocket. As he dug for his phone he heard the hum of an approaching car. Though he doubted the messenger would be back so soon, or travel in a vehicle, Coop slid his hand into his pocket and over the grip of his gun.

  The light had gone misty gray with dawn, and in the eastern sky the red rose and spread. He walked back, cut his headlights, and standing at the gate saw his instinct had been right. The four-wheel drive slowed. He held up a hand to stop them, to keep them as far back from the gate as he could manage when they made the turn.

  He recognized the man who got out the passenger side by sight, but not name. “Keep back from the gate,” Coop ordered.

  Tansy climbed out the other side and stood holding the door handle as if for support. “Oh, my God.”

  “You want to keep back,” he repeated.

  “Lil.”

  “She’s fine,” Coop told Tansy. “I just left her up at the cabin. I need you to call the sheriff—Willy. Get back in the car and call. Tell him somebody left a dead wolf at the gate. Two bullet holes that I can see. I want you to wait in the car, don’t touch anything. You.” He pointed to the man.

  “Uh, Eric. I’m an intern. I just—”

  “In the car, stay. The vultures come back, hit the horn. I’m going to go get Lil.”

  “We’ve got some volunteers coming in this morning.” Tansy took a breath that huffed out a fog, then another, shorter, smoother. “And the other interns. They should be here soon.”

  “If they come before I get back, keep them away from the gate.”

  He got back into his truck, backed up until he came to one of the pull-offs. He did a quick three-point turn and pushed for speed.

  She was already outside, standing on the path that led from her cabin to the offices. Her hands moved to her hips even as the scowl moved over her face.

  “What now? Mornings are busy times around here.”

  “You need to come with me.”

  The scowl faded. She didn’t question him. There was enough in the tone, in his eyes to tell her there was trouble.

  “Get a camera,” he called out when she started toward the truck. “Digital. Make it fast.”

  Again, she asked no questions but set off toward the cabin at a run. She was back in under two minutes, with the camera and her rifle.

  “Tell me,” she said when she jumped in the truck.

  “There’s a dead wolf hanging over your gate.”

  She sucked in a breath, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her hand tighten on the barrel of the rifle. But her voice stayed calm.

  “Shot? Like the cougar?”

  “It took two shots, that I can see. Not much blood, and it’s cold. He killed it somewhere else, hauled it down. It doesn’t look like he got in, or tried. But I didn’t look that close. A couple of your people pulled up right after I found it. They’re calling the sheriff.”

  “Son of a bitch. What’s the damn point in—Wait!” Alarm ringing in her words, she pushed up straight in the seat. “Go back, go back. What if he’s using this to lure us away? If he got inside? The animals, they’re helpless. Go back, Coop.”

  “Nearly at the gate. I’ll drop you off. I’ll go back.”

  “Hurry. Hurry.” When he braked at the gate, she turned. “Wait for me,” she demanded and jumped out. “Eric!”

  She circled wide of the wolf—smart girl—and Coop watched Eric get out of the car on the other side. “Catch this! Catch it. Get the best pictures you can of the wolf, the gate, of everything. Wait for the sheriff.”

  “Where are you—”

  She scrambled back in Coop’s truck, slammed the door on Eric’s question. “Move!”

  He punched the gas, shot back in reverse, and went with the fishtail when he whipped into the turn. When he blasted the horn, she jumped, then stared at him. “On the off chance you’re right, and he hears us coming, he’ll book. This isn’t about confrontation.” Not yet, Coop thought. Not yet. “It’s about harassment.”

  “Why off chance?”

  “It’s unlikely he knew I was here last night, or I’d be leaving before your people got here. Otherwise, they’d be the ones to find the wolf, and they’d have come in, come up to tell you. Everybody’d be here, not at the gate.”

  “Okay, okay, that’s a point.” But she didn’t breathe easily until she saw the first habitats, heard the usual calls and clamor of morning.