Courage Dares (13 page)

She had no other option. As she reached her decision, she realized it was the same choice her mother had made, years ago.

Clinching his fists, Connor thrust himself in front of Mary. He’d die before he allowed Ramone in her tent.

Ramone stopped and pulled out his Luger. "You really want this, don't you?" he snarled, grinning wolfishly. He waved the barrel from side to side, backing up to put a little more distance between them.

Connor shoved Mary aside to remove her from the line of fire. "Stand back," he demanded.

She stepped closer. "No, I—"

"Stay away!" Couldn't she see Ramone was at flash-point?

Ramone lifted the semi-automatic and chambered the first bullet, then aimed at Connor.

Connor didn't hesitate. He refused to be shot like a tin can on a post. He lunged forward and to the left, lessening the distance between them while at the same time forcing Ramone to shift his aim.

The shot reverberated loudly in the snow-covered woods and the bullet sang as it passed. Close. Very close.

A second shot spurred Connor faster. He was two yards from Ramone when his left foot plunged through the snow's crust, throwing him to his hands and knees.

No!

Ramone laughed maliciously and steadied his hand as Connor tugged his foot free. Desperate, Connor snatched up a chunk of the crust and threw it, making Ramone duck, his aim waver.

The third shot went wide. Barely. The high-pitched whine announced the bullet's passage as Connor dove to his left and rolled across the snow.

He struggled upright, his body tensing for the blow of the next bullet. His luck had run out. There was no way he could reach the—

"Ramone!" Ira stood less than six yards away, his feet wide and knife raised. "Don't yuh!" he yelled— the first time Connor had ever heard him raise his voice.

Ramone looked over his shoulder and hesitated, his mouth opening and closing in mindless frustration. "You? Stay out of this."

Ira waggled his knife with deadly purpose. "Leave ‘em alone."

A mild rumbling erupted from behind them, the sound changing quickly to an deep roaring thunder. Ramone's shots had triggered an avalanche on the other side of the ridge— the cornice that Mary had refused to walk under.

The noise emphasized Ira's threat, although Ira didn't bother to turn and look at the white cloud boiling up behind him. He stayed focused on Ramone, excluding all else.

"I can wait," Ramone proclaimed with boastful intent. Giving one last sneer at Connor, he tramped away, making a production of blowing the smoke from the barrel of his Luger.

Ramone hadn’t given up. He’d try again, when Ira wasn’t around. Connor nodded a brief, "Thank you,” but Ira refused to acknowledge it and walked off.

Connor turned back to Mary, his muscles still tightly coiled from the encounter. Her eyes, wide and stricken, reflected her terror, and he quickly returned to her side.

"Did he... did he hit you?" she cried, her hands groping across his chest, pulling at his coat sleeve, seeking reassurance.

"Nope. His shots were wide." He tried to shrug off her fears, while he stilled the violent shaking of his body. A shot of adrenaline made any man shake afterwards.

"Not that wide." She yanked his sleeve around so he could see the hole burned there. A neat hole, in and out through the bulky folds of the heavy down parka.

He flexed his arm to see if it hurt, but it felt fine. The tension slowly ebbed away, leaving him spent.

"I'm all right," he assured her. "It missed." Although more from fool luck than anything else. If Ira hadn't stepped in.... "Ramone isn't that good a shot. He's so eager to kill, he doesn't aim."

She plucked at his coat sleeve in nervous agitation. "You mustn't ever antagonize them. Ever again. Especially Ramone. Promise me!" Her voice quaked as she stumbled over the words.

Connor still seethed with anger. He wasn't going to tip-toe around Ramone, however much Mary pleaded. He didn't believe in pampering his enemies, especially thugs like these who were better off dead.

He spoke curtly. "I had to stop him."

"But not if it means getting yourself killed," she insisted, her gray eyes smoky with distress as she moved closer.

"I'd have taken him with me." Brave words— he could only hope they were true. It would’ve left Mary defenseless. Yet what else could he do? Ramone would shoot him on any flimsy excuse. As long as he must die, he’d take that loathsome creature along with him.

"No." She clutched the front of his coat. "I want him gone, too. But not that way. I couldn't go on, without you."

He brushed his hand tenderly across her forehead, lifting a stray lock of hair and tucking it back under her cap. She wore a regular stocking cap instead of his sleeve, and a smile touched his heart, remembering her courage as she crossed the river, her head held high. Somewhere during their short time together, she had become exceedingly precious to him.

"Yes, you could. You're stronger than you think," he said.

She shook her head, her expression grim. "I'm taking my strength from you. If you weren't along, I wouldn't be brave at all."

"You were brave facing Ramone just now."

"Not really. Just resigned."

"Huh. Seems the same to me. I should kill him before he makes good his threat."

"No. I don't want to cause the death of any person. Not again."

Not again? Whose death had she caused? Had she accidentally lost a victim she tried to rescue?

Troubled, Connor helped Mary set up her light-weight, two-man tent, wondering if he should ask her about it. But she had enough problems without fretting over the past, so he let it drop.

Judd had been talking to Ira and now limped over to Connor. "You want to live, you had better watch yourself. Ramone never forgets."

"He wanted to share Mary's tent. I took exception. So did Ira, I think," Connor said, wondering just what kind of sleeping arrangements Judd planned.

"Ira’ll kill a man without blinking, but he won't harm a woman." Judd paused, viewing Connor from narrowed eyes. "Be grateful Ramone knows that."

"Then perhaps Ira should be the one to guard Mary. I'll share with Ramone."

Judd laughed, a short sharp bark. "Forget that. I don't want you where you can take a gun from a sleeping man. You stay with Mary. It's easier to guard the two of you together."

The good news left Connor as weak as metal stressed to the breaking point. He breathed deeply to calm himself. "Fine with me."

"I'll take your coats and boots for the night. I doubt you'll go far, barefoot."

"Not likely," Connor said.

"Untie our gear from your pack," Judd ordered.

"Gladly."

Undoing the knots, Connor handed him his tents and fuel bottles. Taking them, Judd scrunched away.

The new boots had blistered their captors' feet, plus their jeans were soaked up to their thighs. Altogether very satisfactory to Connor.

If only he wasn’t so bone-weary tired. He needed to hide that from Mary, else she’d try to do more.

"Connor. Could you help me?" Mary called from inside her tent.

"Sure."

He lifted the door flap and glanced in. Although not quite four feet high at the peak, it looked surprisingly roomy for a five-pound tent.

The floor plan was shaped like a huge casket. Three arches supported the roof on the outside, the flexible poles parallel to each other rather than crossing. The rear arch was half the size of the front and center ones.

Mary was trying to open up their sleeping bags. Her hands shook, rendering her unable to untie anything but a slip-type knot.

Crawling in, Connor quickly untied the bowline she was struggling with. "Take a moment to recover," he murmured, clasping her hands. Cold hands. Capable, but so tiny in his.

She trembled and he tightened his hold, wanting to go out and slay dragons for her. If only he could face the men one by one, separately. It’d do no good to kill three, get killed himself, and still leave one of those thugs to harm her.

"Mary. It’s all right. Try to relax."

"I can't."

"Sure you can. Slow breathing, that’ll do it." He looked down on her face, her features still too taunt, as if the images remained frozen on her mind.

Mary leaned across the sleeping bag and stared at him. "Ramone’ll kill you. I can see it in his eyes."

"So what’s new? He's been looking for an excuse ever since we started."

"But not this badly. When you stand up to him— or to any of them— you provoke them."

"Someone's got to make a stand."

"Not you. Perhaps I should. It's less of a challenge when a woman does it."

Connor could hear the men talking as they finished setting up their tents. He had to downplay the danger so Mary wouldn’t wear herself out with worry.

"I don't think Ramone will try anything with Ira around."

"Are you sure?"

"Ira gave a pretty convincing demonstration."

"And Judd?"

He paused before answering. "Judd just wants the chest. I don't think he cares what the others do."

"I can't help worrying—"

"Don't. It doesn't help."

“What then?”

“Pray.”

“I feel like giving up on prayer.”

“Maybe you’re praying for the wrong things.” Maybe he was, too. “Pray for strength.”

“That’s what I’ve been praying for.”

“Oh. Well, pray for us to figure out a way to escape.”

“That too. God’s never answered my prayers before, so why should He start now?”

“But He’s with you.”

“How do I know? I’ve never seen it happen.”

He hadn’t either, but then he had never felt the need for God at his side. He had always been able to handle things by himself. Until now.

Connor shook his head. Mary needed something positive to focus on. "Let's go have the snowshoe lesson. Okay?" he asked.

"Okay."

"Don't teach them all the tricks," he admonished. "I'd like to see them trip over their own feet."

"There's not that many. With the shoes available today, you just walk normally. It's even easy to run in the aluminum frames you and I have."

"How about Judd's?"

"He bought the plastic models. Costs less, but they're about twenty percent heavier. And they don't have this wide cutout in the back that allows easy running."

"Don't show them that."

"Agreed. They’d take ours."

With a quick squeeze, he released her hands and untied the snowshoes from the packs. Mary lined the men up, gave a quick demonstration, then had them practice. They looked like scruffy penguins out for a walk, waddling at first until they learned they weren’t going to trip. Connor picked it up right away, having done some cross-country skiing.

The short session went well, Connor thought. He admired Mary’s spunk— she wasn't cowering before them.

She paused once to suggest the men move the location of their two dome-shaped tents. "Unless you like snow bombs." She pointed toward the branches overhead, heavily laden with snow. "One of those dropping their load will bust the poles."

Later she added a whispered aside to Connor, "Then they'd probably take our tent and make us sleep in the snow."

Daylight was going fast by the time Connor removed his snowshoes and placed them beside Mary's outside her tent. The four kidnapers had been forced to re-position their two tents to avoid the trees and were now four car lengths away.

Judd struggled across the distance, breaking through the crust every third step. He arrived in bad humor and snapped out his demands.

"Hand over your coats and boots. You stay in the tent," he stated. "You come out, we shoot."

"Understood," Connor replied. He pulled off his boots and handed them and his coat to Judd, then passed over Mary's things.

"Just don't leave them out in the snow, please," Mary requested as Judd limped away.

The cold bore into Connor as soon as he removed his down parka. He started to enter the tent, but Mary handed him a two quart kettle without any handles.

"Fill that with clean snow, will you? Pack it high. That should do us for supper."

"Sure." He did so, his bare feet quickly chilling as he broke away the crust, then packed snow into the container. He carried it inside the tent, letting the flap fall shut behind him.

Mary looked tired, but not as exhausted as Connor felt after carrying everyone's equipment. He watched, mind numb, as she unzipped his sleeping bag and motioned him in. He already shook, his teeth chattering— and he couldn't stop.

"Lie down and rest," she insisted. "You're overly tired and have no resistance. I'll get the stove going."

“Inside? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Only if the tent were airtight. Which it isn’t. If it had snow on it, sealing us in, then we couldn’t.”

Climbing in, he pulled the bag around himself, thankful for the down that offered almost instant warmth. He watched her unfold a small backpacker's stove, the size of two packs of cards. It offered a stable, six-inch-square rack on which to place the cooking pot. She attached a butane cartridge and lit the gas, the tiny flame roaring mightily. Adjusting it, she set the stove out of the way with the kettle balanced on it.

That done, she pulled off her outer shirt and pants. Her silk thermal underwear covered her from head to foot and her hair flared in a wild halo around her face. With her eyes heavy with tiredness, her chin covered with a dirty smudge where she had wiped it, she looked absolutely beautiful.

She unzipped her bag and climbed in, then sat upright, re-zipping it to leave her arms free. It became an elongated coat, covering her from head to foot.

Connor raised up to look at the network of zippers.

"It's designed this way," she explained. "So's yours. You don't have to get out of your bag to eat. Now if you'll turn onto your stomach, I'll rub some of the soreness out of your neck and shoulder muscles. The load they piled on you was insane."

"It was heavy," he admitted, doing as she requested. She began to press on his neck. "Ah... that feels good."

He loved the feel of Mary's hands. Soft hands. Strong hands. She was quite a woman, both a fighter and survivor, whether she realized it or not. If he got them out of this, alive, he’d take her out on the town for a week—two weeks if she wanted.