Courage Dares (18 page)

Found out! Ira’s words took the wind out of Mary.

She looked over at Mount Rainier. It protruded into a clear sky, its distinctive volcano shape too well known for anyone to mistake.

She had been living in a fool's world, thinking she could lead Judd's gang around without one of them noticing. The weather had been too nice for subterfuge.

"She's leading us in circles," Ira said. He removed his dark glasses to wipe off the moisture and she met his accusing gaze.

"Circles?" Judd bellowed, jerking his head up to stare at Mount Rainier. "Circles?"

He swung around as if to seek trail markers stuck up in the snow, marked "Wrong Way." The veins on his forehead became pronounced, their vivid presence emphasizing the anger exploding within.

"That's what I said." Putting his glasses back on, Ira pointed at Mary. "If you want more proof, look at her face."

Mary could feel the flush of heat staining her cheeks and spoke quickly, hoping that somehow she could cover her actions. "We've had to circle some of the more dangerous areas. Ira just happened to look when—-"

"Circling's over," Judd interrupted. "We go straight through 'till we reach the cabin."

"But, but... The avalanches— " She could see by his face that he wasn't going to accept her excuse.

“Straight.”

Her spirit disintegrated. From now on they’d watch where she led them.

"How much longer to reach the cabin? I want a definite time frame."

"I... I can't say," she stammered. "Three, four days. Maybe more."

"Then I will. Three days. No more, no less. You want lover boy to live, you lead us the right way. No more tricks. Ira, you keep watching that mountain."

Mary's mind churned. What should she do? Why hadn't she and Connor discussed what to do if this happened?

She desperately sought for a plan of action—any plan. They were close to the cabin at this point. They could reach it in a day.

But Connor kept emphasizing that she mustn't take them there. So she had to continue away. But where?

Go deeper into the wilderness until they ran out of food? Get "lost," forcing Judd or Ira to take the lead and perhaps really wander in circles?

She hadn't prayed for snow before, but if she ever needed a snowstorm, she needed it now. Anything to mask her route.

"Well?" Judd thundered. "Move out. And in the right direction this time."

“Okay.” Mary reached down and needlessly adjusted her snowshoes, her mind racing furiously.

Should she lead them to a different cabin? One without the chest? Mary focused on that, elated at the thought. Yes. That was a possibility.

She couldn’t lead them to her father's cabin. So, she’d head for a different one.

"We'll have to travel faster, but we should make it in four days," she told Judd as she straightened up. “Unless the weather—"

"All right. Four days. Period! No exceptions."

"I can't help it if the weather changes," she snapped, short-tempered with Judd and his ultimatums, angry at the situation he had placed her in. But, she decided, anger had its good moments, when it overrode fear and pushed a person into a decision.

She’d keep going north-northwest, staying in the deepest wilderness area until they were clear of Snoqualmie Pass, then start looking for a cabin— maybe one on a road in from Steven's Pass, although that was a long way away.

The worry surged upward and Mary pushed it away. She had to deal with things when they came.

Worry was something Connor wouldn't allow. He kept telling her she was a survivor and could make it. She didn't consider herself one, but it felt good to reach a decision and act on it, whatever the outcome.

Without trying to think of other possibilities, Mary led the small group out once more.

They hiked in silence, Mary setting as hard a pace as Judd's footsore men allowed. She and Connor were down to one fuel bottle, so after three hours of steady walking, she stopped in a small opening in the dense forest. It was earlier than usual, but Mary camped wherever she found a good site, rather than when the clock said to stop.

She examined the large stump in front of her, its height bringing it up above the snow pack, its semi-hollow interior making an ideal reflector. She could build a fire in it and the snow wouldn’t put it out.

"It's too soon to stop," Judd protested, thumping up beside her, bellowing his impatience.

"Not really," she said. "We need time to gather wood."

"Wood? Why? We've two fuel bottles left."

She didn't feel like arguing. "It's never wise to use up your last fuel bottle, in case of an emergency. Connor and I have only one. We need to save all three."

"So what do you plan to do?"

"Make one fire for all of us. That's why I stopped here. This hollow stump will make a perfect fireplace. We can put the tents right here."

"Wood's wet," Wes pointed out with the whine in his voice that always made Mary want to swat him. "And we've nothing to cut it with."

Mary took several sideways steps to the nearest Douglas fir and snapped off three of the lower branches.

"This is what you gather," she said. "Douglas fir self-prunes itself. All the lower branches will be dead."

"Oh."

"They're dry and will burn well. You can break them over your knee, if you have to. The larger ones we can prop up against the fire and push in as they burn."

Mary looked around at her attentive audience. With their uncombed hair, beards, and dirty clothes, they barely resembled the group she had led out.

She knew she didn't look much better.

She pushed back a strand of wet hair and took off her pack. "We don't need a fire to burn all night. Just enough to cook a meal and melt water."

"Okay. We'll stop here," Judd said, appearing relieved to have an excuse to get off his sore feet. He dropped his pack. "Wes, you and Ira gather wood. I'll help Mary put up the tents."

"I ain't goin’ out there," Wes protested. "It's too easy to git lost. An' remember the way
she
fell through those branches— outta sight in a shot." He glanced fearfully out at the thick trees, towering some sixty feet overhead. As if in response, several dropped their loads of snow with dull thuds.

"Scared?" Ramone jeered.

"Course not. I ain't skeered of nothin’."

"Then get going," Judd commanded. "You've got your gun. Shoot if you get lost."

Muttering, Wes stalked off and began breaking branches, keeping well within sight of camp.

Judd untied Connor. "You gather from the trees close by. That’ll keep you out of trouble. Ramone, stand guard for now. Keep an eye on him. Wes," he yelled, “you can go further out than that.”

“Not me, Boss. This is as far as I go.”

Ramone moved to a central position, gun in hand, eyes on Connor, looking for a reason to shoot.

Connor checked his wrists, rubbed raw by the strap's edges. He took off his pack and set it beside Mary's, staying well away from Ramone.

All afternoon he had wondered where Mary was leading them. He hoped she wasn't actually going to the cabin, now that Judd had given her only four days.

Moving among the trees, he snapped off the dead branches. He had an armful in a matter of moments.

He assessed the situation for possibilities of escape. With two men out gathering wood, their chances improved. He could slip into the trees, circle around and catch Wes and Ira unaware as they worked, maybe get their guns.

He carried his armful back and dumped it in the spot Mary indicated, then went out for more. Wes came in, then Ira, each with an armload.

The wood was too plentiful. Gathering it wasn't going to take them far enough away from the campsite. Judd could easily call them back in once Connor slipped out of sight.

He might be able to get Wes as he returned, grab his gun, and then....

Then nothing. They’d just hold a gun on Mary until he gave up. He could leave and go for help, but they knew that he wouldn't leave Mary alone—even if he did know the way out.

He dropped down into a tree well—the deep depression that surrounded almost every evergreen—and gathered the branches there. He could hide out in one of these, maybe make Judd think he had left. Or leave, circle around and come back to Mary after dark.

But they’d be alert, ready to grab him as he came in. And they wouldn't leave Mary alone in the tent.

Connor snapped the small branches off roughly, refusing to give in to frustration and despair. If they were to escape at all, he and Mary had to do it together.

When
they escaped, he corrected himself. When. The time would come. He just had to be patient.

He paused for a moment to pray. Gaining strength from it, he climbed out of the tree well and tromped back to the campsite. Mary had the tent up and supplies inside and was beginning to lay the fire in the stump.

He watched for a moment, finding pleasure in her assured movements as she arranged the wood, then scraped magnesium shavings off a small fire starter and sparked the shavings, producing an intense flame that ignited the small twigs immediately.

It took no time at all to bring the rest of the dead wood up to kindling temperature. The fire spread rapidly through the small bundle she had made. As she turned to put on more fuel, she saw him and smiled, a smile that included him in her life. A brave smile.

He smiled in return, happy that she seemed to be weathering this latest setback. Mary was learning to overcome her fears. He gave her a thumbs-up signal, and headed back for more wood.

As she watched Connor walk away, Mary hummed to herself, keeping her back turned toward Ramone so she wouldn't think about him. She enjoyed starting fires, watching the tiny flames grow into a life-giving entity. She added more wood, then more. The dancing flames heated her face and hands.

She’d lead the men to some cabin out in the woods— it didn't matter which one— then when they had searched it, lead them out again.

She frowned. After they ransacked the cabin, Judd would probably kill Connor, then turn Ramone loose on her.

She stopped humming. She had to come up with a better plan. One that wouldn't get them killed at the end.

But what? She was running out of options. Thrusting her hands into her pockets, she felt the wooden bear and brought it out to examine more thoroughly. It was compact, as wood carvings tended to be. It had a quizzical expression, as if puzzled with what was going on.

She held it out on her open hand, a small figure just over two inches long, and wondered anew about Ira. Why had he given it to her?

He entered the clearing, dropping his load of sticks near her but didn’t meet her gaze. She half-turned, almost bumping into Wes.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” she asked, and he nodded.

Ramone stood next to him, and when he leaned toward the little bear, she held it out.

With a smirk, he snatched it and tossed it into the flames.

“No!” She reached for it, but he knocked her hand away, laughing at her distress.

“What did you do that for?” she cried, then caught her breath.

Ira stood five feet away. He had seen the destruction.

For a moment, Mary thought Ira would kill Ramone. The tall murderer shot the smaller man a glance of undiluted hatred before he turned to get more wood. But he did leave. Ramone laughed louder.

With the little wooden bear burned beyond saving, Mary turned away from the fire. Distraught, she retreated to the middle of the clearing, her head bowed and her shoulders slumped. Ramone and his kind functioned far beyond her understanding.

Where was help when she needed it? She looked beyond the treetops to the stars, sparkling in mass on the black backdrop of sky, making the snow glisten. Cold, deadly snow. Icy, frigid, chilling her soul and offering no comfort.

The northern tribes claimed hell was cold. She could see why.

This trip had taken away the joy of winter. She loved to ski and snowshoe, but doubted she had ever do either again. She shook her head, denying that thought. She’d find winter's joy once more. If she lived, she’d pick up her life and go on, to overcome what had happened, to put them out of her mind.

Reap your experiences
, she told herself, remembering the advice of the minister who had helped her after her father's death.
Reap them and put them away to rest. Grow on them and make them your foundation, one that is sturdy and not shaky. Don't carry the baggage of the past. Examine it, mourn for it. Then put it away.

She could do that. There was a time and a place for everything and right now the time demanded that she and Connor work at outwitting their enemies.

Please, Lord, give me some direction. I really need Your help.

She looked back at the heavens. She knew the constellations by name, each one familiar. She automatically found the constellation Ursa Major, then followed the pointers to the North Star.

Mary could tell time by the position of Ursa Minor as it swung around the Pole Star, like a big clock in the sky, fifteen degrees every hour. It had moved a few degrees since she started the fire, so it should be around six. She glanced down at her watch and felt her confidence grow when she saw it was two after.

Her skills gave her courage. She could survive out here. Judd's men couldn't. All she needed to do was escape with Connor.

A white owl swooped by, a silent presence quickly gone. She followed its flight into the trees, wishing she could join it. Somehow, like the owl, she and Connor would fly away. That was the fact to hold on to. This time as she breathed in the chilled air, it cleared her mind.

With a new sense of determination, she brushed the dry snow off her gloves. Time would continue on no matter what she did. She must stop wishing for something to happen and start making it happen. For Connor's sake she must fight back.

What could they do that they hadn't already tried?

Mary hugged herself and looked upward, her thoughts tumbling over each other.

The North Star. With all the stars circling around it. Circling endlessly. Like her trail. She nodded to herself. All things had a beginning and an end— except the circle. If she looked up at the stars an hour later, they would all have moved around the North Star. Except of course, the earth was moving. It would move around and eventually circle back to where it had started.

Back— to where she had started. A circular trail. Leading not to the cabin, but to the van.

So simple. A circular trail, leading back to where they had started. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? Why had she been thinking “cabin” all this time? Her shoulders straightened. She lifted her arms and smiled at the dark sky.

Had God guided her thoughts or not? How was she to know?
Thank you, Lord, for helping me.

She could reach the van in four days. The police had probably found the emergency locator, read the message on it, and set up a trap. All she had to do was lead Judd into it.

It would’ve been pleasant around the fire that evening, Connor realized, except for Wes, surly as usual, and Ramone, whose eyes followed Mary wherever she went. He wanted to throttle the dark-haired man, but knew in the long run it wouldn't help Mary.

Patience, Connor. Patience. Eat your pride for Mary's sake.

He moved over to help her adjust one of the pans on the fire, deliberately putting himself between her and Ramone. She gave him a quick glance filled with gratitude and handed him the towel she was using as a hot pad.

"Keep your eye on that one," she said, pointing to a pan of water. "It's too full."

Using dried meat and vegetables— a little taken from each person— Mary cooked a big pot of soup, plenty for everyone. It was Connor's first good meal since they started. It lifted his spirits, easing away the mind-numbing tiredness that had taken over the last two days.

He stirred the coffee she handed him, the dark liquid swirling within the cup. The dancing flames heated his face and hands while the food warmed his insides. He stared into the coals, watching the subtle shift of color within. The fire gave off heat and light as it burned up the branches.

Everything had its good side and bad side. Connor wanted to cry out in rage at the men who had captured him, while at the same time he rejoiced at having found a woman like Mary.

She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. He was drawn by the tender looks she gave him, and the excuses she made for him when he failed to perform as well as he thought he should. The power she had over him was something he had never before encountered. All she had to do was speak and he’d be on his knees to her.

It seemed strange to find his soulmate in this desolate spot. He had searched the cities for her, and here she was.

Darkness closed around them, and with the darkness, snowflakes. Large ones, drifting silently down. Not enough to put out the fire, but enough to dampen the men's desire to linger around the warmth and light, and head for bed.

After stacking the remaining dry wood under the tent flaps, Connor ducked inside with Mary. Her boots and coat were already at the door. He removed his and handed the pile out to Judd. A night-time ritual by now.

"Ramone makes my flesh crawl." She shuddered, plucking at the knot holding her sleeping bag. Connor knelt beside her to help. "He’s so cruel. He reminds me of the soldiers."

The fire cast enough light that Connor could see quite well inside the tent. He reached up to brush away the snowflakes that had fallen like tiny stars on Mary's lashes. She glanced at him with a wistful sort of smile, then looked back at the knot again. He wished he could brush away the sorrow she felt just as easily.

"After the trial," she said, tugging at the knot haphazardly, "my father brought me back to the States—"

"The trial?" He covered her hand with his, stilling her agitated movements. "They caught those men?"

"Yes."

She grabbed his hands and held on tightly, like a fallen climber grasping a rope. Her nails dug into his flesh, but Connor said nothing, letting her continue.

"The same day. They still had Mom's blood on them. But later, facing them across the courtroom, trying to answer the lawyers' questions, it... it was like living it all over again. I couldn't bear it."

"The soldiers? What happened to them?"

She leaned forward so that her head rested on his chest, her hair tumbling across his arm like a silken net. "I don't know. I think they were executed.

“As soon as my part was over, Daddy brought me back to the States. I clung to him like glue on paper. Wouldn't let go of his hand, for weeks. He’d sit by the bed where I slept, holding me. It was the only thing that enabled me to rest— from having those terrible nightmares."

"You haven't had any since that first night at the farmhouse," Connor reminded her, and felt her grasp loosen, sensed her body relax.

"No. I guess...." She paused, her body tensing in thought... a different tension than he had felt before. He waited for her to continue, his mind struggling to comprehend the terrible burden Mary carried. To have witnessed her mother's murder was bad enough, but to have to live through the telling and retelling of the events...?

He shook his head in wonder. She was a stronger person than she knew.

"Can you think of any reason why the nightmares have stopped?" he asked, curious.

"It's because of you."

"Me? Negative." He had been a total failure.

"Yes. You." She tipped her face up to his and Connor saw the sweet smile that graced her lips.

"I haven't done anything," he protested, and she smiled more broadly.

Lifting his hands, she pressed her lips against his palms, making Connor's heart crash wildly. "I've had you next to me, every night," Mary murmured, gazing at him with a tenderness he didn't feel he deserved. "I've learned to trust you, Connor. I can feel you here, hear you breathing and know you’re with me. Your presence has stopped the monster who invaded my dreams."

"I'm glad."

Her lips were so close to his, he gave in to temptation and touched them lightly with his— a quick salute that acknowledged how much Mary had come to mean to him.

She was so precious— her laughter, her smile, even her tears were precious. He’d walk off a cliff for her and never regret it.

Her eyes flooded with tenderness and she kissed him back— a gentle touch, but filled with a sweet promise that captured his heart and sent the blood pounding through his arteries.

He’d walk off two cliffs for her.

With a shy duck of her head, Mary again fumbled with the knot, effectively breaking contact with him. This time she took hold of the "slippery" end, and it released as she tugged it sharply.

Connor took her actions as a sign for him to back off. Reining in his charging hormones, he undid his bag and flipped it out onto the tent floor. He felt ready to explode.

The cold air would help cool him down, so he stepped outside and began to add more snow to each of the three large pots that Mary had left on the coals.

Using a small pan as a scoop, Connor soon had the pots refilled. Next he rounded up the fire, picking up the burning branches by their unburned ends and tossing them onto the coals, drawn to the subtle shift of color within the flames. The fire was like a living, breathing animal. A life-giver— and a destroyer.

The snow fell steadily now, the flakes much smaller, more compact. During the entire time he had been out, there had been no noticeable motion within the other two tents. All was quiet.

He hadn’t called out that he was exiting Mary's tent. Did they even know he was there?

What would happen if he took several of the firebrands— like the ones in his hands— and threw them against those tents?