“I like to work.”
“That may be, but a day off and a date would do you good. You ought to get your ma and drive into Rapid City for the day. Do some shopping, get your nails done, then come back and have that good-looking Cooper Sullivan buy you a steak dinner, take you dancing, then parking afterward.”
“Mary.”
“If I were thirty years younger and single, I’d damn well see to it he bought me a steak dinner, and the rest of it.” Mary gave Lil a hard, somewhat impatient squeeze. “I worry about you, honey.”
“Don’t. Don’t worry.”
“Take a day off. Well, break’s over.” She checked her watch. “Tansy and Farley ought to be rolling up in a couple hours. Then we’ll have some excitement.”
She didn’t want a day off, Lil thought when Mary walked away. She didn’t want to go shopping-very much. Or to get her nails done. She looked at her nails, winced. Okay, maybe she could use a manicure, but she didn’t have any lectures, appearances, or events scheduled. No fundraising drums to beat. When she needed to, she cleaned up very well.
And if she wanted a steak dinner, she could buy her own. The last thing she needed was a date with Coop, which would complicate a situation she’d already complicated with sex.
Completely her fault, she admitted.
He’d been right about one thing that morning. She had to deal with it.
Why hadn’t she made that list?
She stopped in front of the tiger’s enclosure. He lay at the entrance of his den, eyes half shut. Not dozing, not yet, Lil thought. His tail switched lazily, and Lil could see awareness in those slitted eyes.
“Not still mad at me, are you?” Lil leaned on the rail, watched Boris’s ears flick. “I had to do it. I don’t want anything to happen to you, or for anything to happen because of you. Not our fault, Boris, but we’d be responsible.”
Boris made a rumbling that sounded so much like reluctant agreement, Lil smiled. “You’re beautiful. Big, beautiful boy.” Lil let out a sigh. “I guess my break’s over, too.”
She straightened to stare out across the enclosures, the trees, the hills. And she thought it didn’t seem as if there could be a thing wrong in the world on a day like this.
HE MUNCHED ON his second Ho Ho. He could live off the land, but didn’t see any reason to deny himself a few pleasures from the Outside. In any case, he’d stolen the box of snack cakes from a campsite, so technically he was living off the land as he ate them. He’d also confiscated a bag of potato rolls and a six-pack of Heineken.
He limited himself to one beer every two days. A hunter couldn’t let alcohol slow his brain, even for an hour. So he only drank the single beer at bedtime.
Drinking had been his weak spot-he could admit it-just like it had been his daddy’s. Just, as his daddy had often said, like it was for their people. Liquor was only one more weapon the white man had used against them.
Drinking had gotten him in trouble, brought him to the attention of the white man’s law.
But he did love the taste of a cold beer.
He wouldn’t deny himself. He would simply control himself.
He’d learned that on his own. Of all the things his father had taught him, control hadn’t been one of them.
It was a matter of control, he thought. Just as letting the campers live had been a matter of control, and power. Killing them would have been fish-in-barrel time, and that wasn’t worth his skill. He had considered killing three of the four, then hunting down the last.
It never hurt to practice.
But taking out four campers would have the cops and rangers covering the hills like ants. Not that he couldn’t evade them, as his forefathers had for so long. One day he would be a one-man war party, hunting and killing those who desecrated the land at his whim and his will.
One day they would speak his name with fear and reverence.
But for now he had bigger fish to fry, fish that weren’t in the barrel.
He took out his field glasses to scan the compound below. His pride still surged from his observation of the guards placed around the perimeters through the night.
Because of him.
His prey scented him, and feared. Nothing he’d done before had given him such satisfaction.
How easy, and how exciting, it would have been to have taken them out. All of them. Moving silent as a ghost, slitting throats, one by one, blood warm and wet on his hands.
All that game bagged in one night.
And what would his prize have felt in the morning, when she’d come out of the cabin to see the carnage he’d left behind?
Would she have run, run screaming in terror?
He loved it when they ran, when they screamed. And more, when they had no breath left to scream.
But he’d snapped control firmly into place. It wasn’t time.
He could send her a message, he considered. Yes, he could. Something that made it very personal. The more there was at stake, the deeper the competition when the time came.
He didn’t just want her fear-fear was easy to come by.
He watched her for another moment as she crossed the compound toward the cabin that held the offices.
No, not just her fear, he thought, lowering the glasses, licking chocolate off his fingers. He wanted her involved as none of the others had been. As none of the others had deserved.
He turned away, and hitching his pack on his shoulders, began a circular hike back to his den, whistling a tune.
When the lone hiker, puffing a bit, crossed his path, he smiled.
“Lost?” he asked.
“No. Not exactly. Glad to see a friendly face, though. I was on Crow Peak, heading toward the summit. I think I got off the mark a little.” He pulled a bottle of water out of his belt harness. “I guess I should’ve stuck with one of the easier trails. It’s been a while.”
“Mmm-hmm.” This one looked healthy enough, fit enough. And lost, just enough. “You’re making the trip alone?”
“Yeah. The wife headed back at the junction. I’da done the same except she said I couldn’t do the seven miles. You know how it is. Gotta prove them wrong.”
“I’m heading that way myself. I can get you back on track.”
“That’d be great. Wouldn’t mind the company either. Jim Tyler,” he said, offering a hand. “From St. Paul.”
“Ethan Swift Cat.”
“Nice to meet you. You from around here?”
“That may be, but a day off and a date would do you good. You ought to get your ma and drive into Rapid City for the day. Do some shopping, get your nails done, then come back and have that good-looking Cooper Sullivan buy you a steak dinner, take you dancing, then parking afterward.”
“Mary.”
“If I were thirty years younger and single, I’d damn well see to it he bought me a steak dinner, and the rest of it.” Mary gave Lil a hard, somewhat impatient squeeze. “I worry about you, honey.”
“Don’t. Don’t worry.”
“Take a day off. Well, break’s over.” She checked her watch. “Tansy and Farley ought to be rolling up in a couple hours. Then we’ll have some excitement.”
She didn’t want a day off, Lil thought when Mary walked away. She didn’t want to go shopping-very much. Or to get her nails done. She looked at her nails, winced. Okay, maybe she could use a manicure, but she didn’t have any lectures, appearances, or events scheduled. No fundraising drums to beat. When she needed to, she cleaned up very well.
And if she wanted a steak dinner, she could buy her own. The last thing she needed was a date with Coop, which would complicate a situation she’d already complicated with sex.
Completely her fault, she admitted.
He’d been right about one thing that morning. She had to deal with it.
Why hadn’t she made that list?
She stopped in front of the tiger’s enclosure. He lay at the entrance of his den, eyes half shut. Not dozing, not yet, Lil thought. His tail switched lazily, and Lil could see awareness in those slitted eyes.
“Not still mad at me, are you?” Lil leaned on the rail, watched Boris’s ears flick. “I had to do it. I don’t want anything to happen to you, or for anything to happen because of you. Not our fault, Boris, but we’d be responsible.”
Boris made a rumbling that sounded so much like reluctant agreement, Lil smiled. “You’re beautiful. Big, beautiful boy.” Lil let out a sigh. “I guess my break’s over, too.”
She straightened to stare out across the enclosures, the trees, the hills. And she thought it didn’t seem as if there could be a thing wrong in the world on a day like this.
HE MUNCHED ON his second Ho Ho. He could live off the land, but didn’t see any reason to deny himself a few pleasures from the Outside. In any case, he’d stolen the box of snack cakes from a campsite, so technically he was living off the land as he ate them. He’d also confiscated a bag of potato rolls and a six-pack of Heineken.
He limited himself to one beer every two days. A hunter couldn’t let alcohol slow his brain, even for an hour. So he only drank the single beer at bedtime.
Drinking had been his weak spot-he could admit it-just like it had been his daddy’s. Just, as his daddy had often said, like it was for their people. Liquor was only one more weapon the white man had used against them.
Drinking had gotten him in trouble, brought him to the attention of the white man’s law.
But he did love the taste of a cold beer.
He wouldn’t deny himself. He would simply control himself.
He’d learned that on his own. Of all the things his father had taught him, control hadn’t been one of them.
It was a matter of control, he thought. Just as letting the campers live had been a matter of control, and power. Killing them would have been fish-in-barrel time, and that wasn’t worth his skill. He had considered killing three of the four, then hunting down the last.
It never hurt to practice.
But taking out four campers would have the cops and rangers covering the hills like ants. Not that he couldn’t evade them, as his forefathers had for so long. One day he would be a one-man war party, hunting and killing those who desecrated the land at his whim and his will.
One day they would speak his name with fear and reverence.
But for now he had bigger fish to fry, fish that weren’t in the barrel.
He took out his field glasses to scan the compound below. His pride still surged from his observation of the guards placed around the perimeters through the night.
Because of him.
His prey scented him, and feared. Nothing he’d done before had given him such satisfaction.
How easy, and how exciting, it would have been to have taken them out. All of them. Moving silent as a ghost, slitting throats, one by one, blood warm and wet on his hands.
All that game bagged in one night.
And what would his prize have felt in the morning, when she’d come out of the cabin to see the carnage he’d left behind?
Would she have run, run screaming in terror?
He loved it when they ran, when they screamed. And more, when they had no breath left to scream.
But he’d snapped control firmly into place. It wasn’t time.
He could send her a message, he considered. Yes, he could. Something that made it very personal. The more there was at stake, the deeper the competition when the time came.
He didn’t just want her fear-fear was easy to come by.
He watched her for another moment as she crossed the compound toward the cabin that held the offices.
No, not just her fear, he thought, lowering the glasses, licking chocolate off his fingers. He wanted her involved as none of the others had been. As none of the others had deserved.
He turned away, and hitching his pack on his shoulders, began a circular hike back to his den, whistling a tune.
When the lone hiker, puffing a bit, crossed his path, he smiled.
“Lost?” he asked.
“No. Not exactly. Glad to see a friendly face, though. I was on Crow Peak, heading toward the summit. I think I got off the mark a little.” He pulled a bottle of water out of his belt harness. “I guess I should’ve stuck with one of the easier trails. It’s been a while.”
“Mmm-hmm.” This one looked healthy enough, fit enough. And lost, just enough. “You’re making the trip alone?”
“Yeah. The wife headed back at the junction. I’da done the same except she said I couldn’t do the seven miles. You know how it is. Gotta prove them wrong.”
“I’m heading that way myself. I can get you back on track.”
“That’d be great. Wouldn’t mind the company either. Jim Tyler,” he said, offering a hand. “From St. Paul.”
“Ethan Swift Cat.”
“Nice to meet you. You from around here?”
