Hunting April (16 page)

If I didn't know any better, I'd say there's a cat meowing outdoors
. Paperback in hand, she walked to the front of the great room and listened through the screens, going from window to window in an attempt to isolate the sound.
Daniel said
not
to leave the lodge
.

The sound definitely became louder, sounding more and more like an animal in distress.
Aw, hell.

Sliding the paperback into her dress pocket, she slowly made her way to the wide front stairs of the lodge, .22 in hand and cocked. The meowing increased in volume, became more so as she tiptoed down the steps and toward the picnic grove.

There, under the first picnic table, was a mottled-looking creature complaining piteously.

"Well, hell. C'mon out, let's have a look at you. Before Daniel returns and flays me alive."

The cat seemed to struggle, but didn't move any closer.

April lay belly-down on the bench, then leaned over for a better look. Holding the handgun proved awkward, and the book in her pocket was poking her. She placed gun and book on the top of the picnic table.

"Oh, you poor baby! Hold on, mama will help you." The cat wore a collar, and the collar had caught on the protruding end of one of the big carriage bolts that held the table legs together. "You poor thing."

Unable to free the collar, April unbuckled it from around the cat's neck. As soon as the cat was released, April was able to grab the collar.

She checked the collar for an ID tag. None. The collar had seen better days, the lined fabric, once bright red, worn and frayed. The cat didn't run off; rather, it hopped up on the bench and begged to be held. April gathered the creature into her arms.

"That's what caught you up, little fella." She lifted the cat, looked underneath the animal. "Okay, little girl. Sorry about that."

Sitting up on the bench and using both hands, she held the cat up and did a better examination. It was a pretty calico cat, its mottled gold, brown, and black patches highlighted by white trim on all four legs, a white bib and underbelly, and a white chin.

Large, golden eyes stared back at her, possibly apprehensive, but not panic-stricken.

The cat appeared a bit thin, but otherwise undamaged.

"Well, little girl, I wonder where you could have come from. Nothing round here for a bazillion miles."

Still suspended in April's hands, the cat's eyes got all squinty. Then she began to purr.

Settled comfortably on April's lap, the purring creature kneaded the top of April's thigh. A wonderful breeze scurried along under the boughs of huge, old, white pines, the inner bottom branches of which had been trimmed to about ten feet up the trunk.

From the end of a drooping bough, April plucked and crushed fresh pine needles, deeply inhaled the Christmas tree scent from her fingers. Perfumes and colognes weren't needed at Sanctuary—nature provided everything a person could wish for.

Panning the three-quarter view of the lodge from her picnic table perch, April determined that the only features the lodge designer neglected to include—a terrible oversight, as far as she was concerned—were balconies off the back of each bedroom.

Now, even just a small balcony, overlooking the extensive lush greens lawns, with a superb view
of the magnificent trees . . . how outstanding would that be?

She was only marginally aware of the various types of trees, the Northeast being somewhat different from the West Coast, but she recognized aromatic cedars, the tall hemlocks, majestic spruce, and the ancient pines that towered over all. Native mountain laurel dressed in dark green with mounds of white flowers outlined the mulched plant beds. Huge, pale pink and deep fuchsia rhododendron bushes must have been planted decades ago to reach such sizes.

With the cat curled on her lap, April took one last look at the glorious landscape, sighed in contentment, then opened her Chris Wenger romance to the bookmarked page. "Well, little cat person, I guess I can understand how a man like Bobby Black Crow could be content living off the land, not beholden to anyone."

"That's mighty civilized of ya, ma'am. Considering that our tribes had these lands first."

April screamed and fell backward off the picnic table seat, landed on the hard gravelly ground. Startled, the cat hissed, yowled, and hightailed it toward the woods.

The lean, bronzed man who stood over April wore faded jeans, an equally faded chambray shirt, and a patterned red bandana tied around his head, to keep his long gray-streaked braids out of his sharply planed, deeply lined face. His hard, black eyes were not friendly.

"Damn it to hell, you about scared the life out of me!" She awkwardly gained her feet, slapped the dust from the long flowing skirt of her sleeveless summer dress. She glanced at the tabletop—her gun was gone. The book had fallen to the ground, so she picked it up. The palms of her hands were slightly abraded from the dusty gravel that made up the walking path in front of the tables. "Shit. Now I'm bleeding."

He glanced at the wounds. "Nothing to worry about. You'll live."

She saw the .22 hanging sorta casually from his fingers, but decided not to mention it. "There's gravel in the wounds. What if they get infected?"

The man shrugged. "Good clean earth won't hurt ya none."

"Assuming you're Mr. Black Crow, what the hell do you want? There must be millions of acres up here—why do you need to hunt so close? Are you so absolutely determined to intentionally piss off the guys? Wave a cape in front of their faces? You
do
know what eventually happens to even the best bullfighters, don't you? They get gored, hooked in the gut. I imagine it's a horrendous way to die."

"You use lots of big words. And you talk too much." He stuck her handgun in his belt at the small of his back, motioned to the picnic bench. "Sit down."

"Why?" She wiped at the worse of the scrapes with a small lacy handkerchief from her dress pocket, picked out bits of gravel. "The scratches sting."

"Live with it."

"Didn't you hear me? What do you want?"

"I told you. Sit. Straddle the bench, cross your ankles underneath and lock them together. And do it now."

"If I don't . . . ?"

In what appeared to be a smooth practiced move, he pulled a long Bowie knife from a sheath at his side. "Don't be difficult."

She sat, followed his previous instructions. "I'm sure your only goal isn't to terrify me—although you're doing a fine damned job. So, what now?"

"I wanna be left alone." He moved closer, pointed the tip of the knife toward her face."I just wanna be left in peace, that's all."

"Then why are you killing so many blasted deer? Isn't that just begging for attention?"

She caught the barest hint of surprise in his eyes, and would have missed it, if she hadn't been staring.
He has a good poker face, very good, but that shook him just a little
.

"Who says it's me doin' the poachin'?"

April caught herself before she blurted out any names. "The authorities."

"That nosy game warden bitch, right? O'Connell. She probably ratted me out to her sheriff boyfriend. They've been sniffin' around, gettin' too close. They're messin'

with me, messin' with my business."

"If you didn't want anyone sniffing and messing around, why drop that buck right under our noses?"

"Heard them Marine boys were outta town. The sheriff usually checks on the place or parks his ass at the lodge while they're gone. But he's been at his own place in town. I figgered no one would be messin' with me. Guess he didn't need to make the trip with you here. Shoulda been safe enough 'til they got back. Didn't plan on people being here."

The expression on his face changed. He took a step closer. "You're just a little bit of a thing, ain't ya? Pretty blue dress, pretty red nails. Kinda tarted up for these here parts."

He brought the knife back up, looked around. "Where's your man gotten himself to? He's a real big stud, too, ain't he? Little girl like you, might not be so comfortable with him ruttin' over ya,
eh
, if you know what I mean."

April felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but he'd frightened her, and she was pissed off about it. She refused to wimp out."Yeah, well, that real big stud will be back any minute. And he won't be happy to find you here. He gets like, real possessive, if you know what
I
mean."

"Sassy thing, too, ain't ya? I don't much care if he likes it or not. He's not here. I am. I left him enough false trails to send him on a nice little wild goose chase—but the wild goose is here." He brought the tip of the knife blade next to her cheek. "You givin'

him a nice piece of the action, are ya? Keeping him all to yourself, just the two a ya in that big ol' lodge, keeping him all satisfied and worn out, I bet."

She tried to hide it, but he must have seen her jaw twitch.

"Yeah, that's right, I saw the ambulance leave. That other fella and the game warden bitch queen who gives me so much grief. I didn't do nothin' to him, though.

That was a for-real accident. I had nothin' to do with it, and you let them know that I didn't. Just happened to be around when the sirens sounded, that's all."

She kept her head still, tried not to flinch as the razor-sharp blade cut through the thin strap of her sundress.
The sirens had never sounded. There was no traffic, so they left
with just the emergency lights flashing.

"Oh yeah, you are a pretty little thing. Tough, too, ain't ya?" He sliced through the second strap. He made a face when the snug bodice stayed in place."Yep, a real looker."

He looked uncomfortable, then adjusted the front of his jeans. "Just plain wrong for yer fella to have left ya alone. Then again, I wonder what you were doin' with two big men here, all to yourself. I know O'Connell's been out tracking me, so you've been alone. Keeping company with them two boys."

His eyes brightened. "Is that what was goin' on? You must be really good, to keep both men pleased and them not tryin' to take each other out. Trained them boys to behave, have ya? Got 'em all housebroke?"

Oh, hell. What was I thinking? I should have listened to Daniel, should have stayed in
the freakin' lodge, but no, I had to go after a freakin' lost cat
. . . . "Look, if you hurt me, you know they'll send the authorities after you. Assault is so much worse than poaching . . .

."

"I'm huntin'. Huntin' ain't poachin'." Moving too fast for her to react, he grabbed a fistful of her hair in a strong grip, forced her head back.

"Don't be tellin' me about assault. I done my time, way back when, afore they gave me the choice to be a scout for the U.S. Army 'cause I was so good at it, me bein'

tribal and all. My people keep the old ways. White man's law called it aggravated sexual assault, but it wasn't like that. She was kinda small and pretty. Like you. But her hair was long, golden, like the sun. She wanted me. Begged me to do her. Changed her mind when her friends saw her with me. Me, a man from the rez. I ain't goin' back to prison."

His face was close—entirely too close. "Y'know, it's only assault if one party ain't willin'. How do you know you wouldn't be willin'? I could show you things, nice things, let you do stuff to me, so it wouldn't be assault at all. What do they call it in the law? Consensual. That's it, consensual. That means you like what I'm doin' and you won't fight me off."

They both heard the high-pitched whiny sound of an ATV engine echoing under the tree canopy. He released her hair.

"Sorry, little lady. We'll need ta postpone our consensual love-makin' until another time. You tell them boys to leave me alone, but it would be wise not to mention our little personal talk. Or your big, strong boyfriend might get hurt. Then you'll really be all alone. You jes' remember, a huntin' arrow is a great equalizer. Quiet. Real quiet, as it slides through the air. Silent as the grave. Remember it."

April moved just her eyes toward the sound of the approaching quad. When she looked back, Black Crow had disappeared without a sound.

Her breath came shallow and fast.
Breathe in, breath out. Breathe in, breathe out.

Repeat process
. Daniel must have left the ATV behind the equipment shed, then walked around to the front door, expected her to be watching for him.
Of course he would—he
told me to wait inside and lock the doors. He told me to watch for him through the windows
.
He
told me to stay the hell put!

April heard him call out her name, his voice sharp, edgy when he came out through the front. He'd shifted to a ground-eating trot by the time he saw her at the picnic table.

"For fuck sake, why didn't you answer? What the bloody hell are you doing out here when I told you . . . ?

He was about a dozen feet away when he stopped abruptly. His hand went to his weapon, drew it smoothly from his shoulder holster. He scanned the area.

"Angel, what's wrong?"

Try as she might, sane words would not form. She shook her head, tried to keep the scream under wraps.

"April? Angel baby, what is it? Talk to me." He moved toward her slowly, continued to study the area as if he was searching for a booby trap. "Angel?"

Suddenly, he halted again, sniffed the air. "He was here, wasn't he? Black Crow."

He crouched, scanned the ground, found the boot impressions in the light layer of dust.

"For fuck sake, I told you to stay indoors and lock up behind me, didn't I? Did you think I was talking just to listen to the sound of my own bloody voice?"

Not knowing what else to do, she shook her head. Tears welled, then dripped down her cheeks. "S-s-sorry. It was the cat. I had to help the cat, she was stuck under the table."

"The cat? What cat? We don't have a bleedin' cat!"

April held up the raggedy collar. "Cat."

Daniel carefully stepped around to her other side, not disturbing the boot prints.

"Forget the sodding cat. Are you all right? Did he harm you in any way?" He holstered his weapon.

"He . . . he . . . ." She couldn't do it.