Uncontrollable (The Nature of Grace, Book 2) (9 page)

Their happiness rubs salt in the gaping hole Mo’s death left in my heart. For a long time, I thought he might still be alive, but as the days pass, that hope becomes a crazy dream.

After watching them a few more minutes, I fall back a few steps from the happy couple. Serious trackers don’t giggle. And just a wild guess, but I’m pretty sure trackers don’t find any tracks on each other’s face or lips.

As I trudge along, my eyes scan the snow-covered path for prints of any kind. When I spot a pile of animal scat frozen in the snow, I can’t resist calling out to our designated documenter.

“Ohhh, Skyyy-ler. I think I found something you should note in the log.”

It takes a few seconds for her and Wyn to sludge their way back through the snow. I try not to laugh as they both bend over, inspecting the
poop
-cicle.

I rub my gloves together to warm my hands and watch Skyler wrinkle her nose. “How do we know it’s wolf poop?”

I mumble with a smirk on my face, “Oh, it’s not. Wolf scat is much hairier than that. That’s just deer poop. Thought you might want to see the difference. Up close and personal. For the sake of research.”

Skyler shoots to her feet. “What’s your problem?”

Instead of saying what I want to say, which is YOU, I act totally innocent. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Grace,” she growls.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,
Sky
. That’s your area of expertise.”

“Oh really?” She steps closer, giving me a whiff of her perfume.

Who wears Chanel No. 5 in the woods? I glance at Wyn, who’s now staring off into the trees, avoiding the conflict.

I point to Romeo. “Besides, he should know wolf scat from deer scat. Don’t you think, Wyn? After all, you are the
leader
of the team.”

He frowns and steps between us like we're having a playground duel. “Take it easy, ladies.”

Skyler eyes him. “Why are you sticking up for her?”

He faces her and turns his back on me. “I’m not, but you girls bickering out here is not going to get us any warmer.”

I nod. “He’s right. Wyn knows all the answers out here. Don’t you, Wyn?”

He tosses me a sharp glance. Not one hint of a smile, which is rare for Wyn, since he has a hard time being serious at a funeral. “Cut it out, Grace.”

Him saying my name totally catches me off guard. I bet I even stumble back a step or two, like he’s kicked me in the chest. It’s the first time he’s addressed me as a real person since that day at the station when he told me he’d never speak to me again. And I believed him.

I didn’t realize how much I missed hearing him say my name until now.

I swallow the lump in my throat and try not to soften at his imaginary blow. “So you
do
remember my name.”

The smile I long to see never comes. Instead he looks away, as if he’s stared at the sun too long. “Maybe we should stop and build a fire.”

I let my voice show the irritation. “Are you serious? It’s only noon. This is the warmest part of the day.”

Wyn hugs Skyler, and his voice sounds strange, like his mouth is stiff from being half-frozen. “She’s cold.”

I snap back before I can stop myself. “Because it’s
winter
.” Then I mumble again. “You guys should have thought of that before you decided to play Tarzan and Jane. Maybe she should just go
home
.”

Skyler puts her fuzzy white mittens on her hips, and I can’t tell if her cheeks are pink with cold or anger. “Oh! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She mouths
Graceless
behind his back, so he doesn’t hear or see.

I ignore her and study a few broken branches. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t object.”

She hops over to me in her furry, non-hiking boots like some snow bunny. I can’t hide my smile when I realize they’re already completely ruined, and it’s only Day One. Maybe she’ll bow out due to a lack of inappropriate footwear, suffer from a little frostbite on her probably perfectly painted toes. Not anything to take off an appendage, but maybe enough to get her out of my face.

She leans in close. “You just want Wyn alone so you can have him to yourself.”

I laugh out loud before she can even add a period to her ridiculous sentence. “Ha! Like he’s any better. I’d rather do this alone. Without the catalog couple. By myself.”

“Well, that can certainly be arranged,” Skyler shouts back. Her voice echoes through the trees.

I scoff. “Should I be so lucky.”

Wyn gets between us and grabs Skyler’s hand. “Ladies, this isn’t helping. Let’s just stop fighting and gather some wood so we can warm up. Make a plan.” He looks at Skyler. “Deal?”

She smiles up at him. “Sure, Wyn.”

He glances at me.

I notice his hand in hers and push away any sadness. Instead, I stand at attention and salute the so-called leader. “Yes,
sir
!”

Without responding, he frowns and marches off into the woods. As he walks away, I notice the seat of his pants are slightly damp, and I can only assume his butt is freezing cold. I cheer on the inside. Serves him right. Should have worn some real clothes. His Old Navy coat and Levis aren’t going to keep him warm, and I’m pretty sure the wolves won’t be that impressed either. Maybe he should have referenced the "What to Wear" checklist like I told him.

Skyler hops back and forth to keep warm like she’s in some kind of line dance at Bronco’s Bar and Grill on a Saturday night. I clear an area for the fire and form a circle with some large stones.

“Grab those little sticks and break them up.”

She snaps back. “Do it yourself.”

I stand and face her. “Look, I’m trying to help.”

She glares at me and pulls her fake fur hat down over her ears. Her nose is red, and her eyes are watering, a true contrast to her voice, which is sharp and cutting. “Yeah? Well, you’ve done enough already.”

Her words cut me deep, and the semi-permanent lump in my throat swells. It’s the first time I’ve realized that Skyler holds me solely responsible for her dad’s death. Maybe she’d feel differently if she knew how much I miss Carl, too. Well, the old Carl anyway. Sometimes, I lie in bed at night and remember his laugh, they way he helped Dad build a tree fort for Skyler and me when we were barely in elementary school. How the four of us used to go snowmobiling in the winters. Contrary to what everyone thinks, I loved Carl like he was part of my family.

I try hard to swallow back the untapped emotions from the past few months. “Skyler, you’re not the only person who lost someone, you know.” My voice comes out scratchy, like it’s been pushed through the splintered wall of hurt and guilt I’ve stacked around me.

The look coming from her bright blue eyes shocks me. It’s pure hate. Not a “we are not from the same crowd in school” hate, but a real, deep down to the core hatred. And as much as I don’t like Skyler and how much she’s changed from the days when we used to catch tadpoles in the stream together, I’ve never hated her.

She takes a breath and forces words out through her clenched teeth. “Yeah, but I didn’t
kill
yours.”

My body heats up in anger at her horrible comment. Instead of lashing out, I force myself to turn away. I can’t face her anymore without showing her my weakness, my guilt. And no matter what I want to say or do, it won’t heal the damage that’s been done. Skyler will never forgive me and neither will Wyn. I suddenly feel very alone.

As I resume gathering sticks, tears fill my eyes. I suddenly feel like crying for Carl, Dad, Mo, and my dog Bear; for losing Tommy and Wyn; for everything I did to let them walk away. A tear trails down my cheek. I hear Skyler sniff behind me. This time, I don’t turn around for fear she might be crying too.

A few minutes later, Wyn breaks the awkwardness by crashing back into the clearing, carrying a few logs. He drops them in the circle. So much for tracking quietly.

I dry both eyes with my shirtsleeve and drop a few more sticks onto the pile. He takes out a flint and steel from our survival pack and beds down to light the pile of tinder just like Agent Sweeney taught us. Only Wyn doesn’t know matches are in the kit, too.

“Wyn…”

He keeps using the flint. “Grace, let me handle this. For once.”

I bite my tongue and wait. Little sparks shoot out, but nothing catches fire. If he’d just listen to me, I could help him. But I’m not going to say any more until he asks. Or begs. Let him be the self-appointed leader who chooses fashion over function if he wants. He can figure it out by himself. Or better yet, let Skyler help him light his fire.

After a few tries, he glances up at me. “I could use some help here.”

I look around. “Wait, are you talking to me?”

“Come on. Give me a break.”

As a brisk wind comes through the clearing, I pull the hood over my head and zip up. “Thought you wanted to handle this.”

He stands and faces me. For a split second, our eyes lock. I see his face soften. “If you think you can do better, be my guest.”

I smile. Wyn challenging me to build a fire is like me challenging the sun to shine. “Fine. Step aside and learn.”

I pull a box of matches from my pocket and strike one until flames dance off the red tip. I quickly light the tinder and smile. “There. I think those made it much easier. Don’t you?”

Wyn frowns and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Very funny. You could have told me about those.”

“I tried.” I shrug. “But you wanted to
lead
. And, you’re the boss.”

He tosses me the backpack. “Not anymore.”

Wyn walks away dejected, and I immediately feel bad for embarrassing him. But as soon as I stand to apologize, Skyler is already at his side, hooking her arm through his. They both sit down together to get warm, and she whispers sweet nothings in his ear.

There’s no way Wyn and I will ever patch things up as long as she’s standing between us. And I’m pretty sure there’s no way she’ll get out of my way so we can. Feeling like the third wheel, I decide to search for more signs of the pack we’re supposed to be tracking. I move in a circular path around the fire, venturing farther and farther away from the makeshift campsite. Finally, I come upon a print.

Only this is no wolf.

My heart starts to race as I skim the trees, looking for something. Or someone. I check my radio to see if Porter’s called and is on his way. Nothing. I don’t want to yell, so instead I whistle to get Wyn’s attention. When he looks up, I motion him over. He reluctantly leaves Skyler’s clutches and makes his way through the trees.

“What is it this time? Something else I’m doing wrong you want to show me?”

I point down at the print. “Look.”

He studies the marking and shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

I put my finger to my lips and my mouth turns dry. “Shhhh.” I point down to an indention in the snow. “It’s fresh because of the snow melting around the edges.”

He looks down and then back at me. “And I care about this because why?”

A branch cracks in the distance.

I whisper. “Because we’re not alone.”

Survival Skill #7

A track in the snow may look different after the warm sun has enlarged and distorted it.

I
realize I’ve been out here for a couple hours and not once have I thought of Al.

Until now.

I stare at the print a little longer and make out the edges. I think back to the bootprint pictures I gave Mama Sue to use for tracking down the owner, but I can’t seem to remember the details. Did Al wear a size 10 or 11?

A scuffling of leaves catches my attention, and I immediately crouch down.

Wyn squats next to me and touches my shoulder. “You okay?”

I flinch and stare into the wall of trees drooping with melting snow, looking for anything out of place. As the wind blows, it loosens the powder and sends it tumbling to the ground, making the air a fuzzy white. My head snaps to the right when my peripheral vision catches movement.

A dark silhouette weaves through the woods, hidden in the shadows created by the thick, white blanket of the treetops sheltering us. I can’t help but think of Mo, remembering the first time I saw him slinking around Bear Creek. I squint as snowflakes land on my eyelashes, making my eyes water.

I hear myself take a breath, a small gasp no one would hear but me. Could this be Mo? It’s been three months and still no sign he’s alive. There’s barely any sign he ever was. Agent Sweeney won’t say anything about knowing Mo whenever I inquire, but I’ll never forget what he said when I brought in the papers Mo left me. He snatched them up without any explanation and gave me his “condolences,” said he was “sorry for my losses.” Not loss.
Losses
. More than one. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t count Carl. He could’ve only meant two people, Dad and Mo, which means even he thinks Mo is dead.

I snap out of my thoughts and watch the figure move closer. But when the shadow is only a few yards away, I immediately know it’s not Mo. I know Mo’s walk, the way he sways and swings one arm more than the other. Then it hits me – this shadow is much larger.