Daunting Days of Winter (11 page)

Kyle heard undisguised derision in the man’s voice and stopped just inside the door. “Have I been arrested or charged with something that I don’t know about?”

The man focused his glare on Sean.

Sean held his hands up in front of him. “His wife and kids were there; he was cooperating. I didn’t see the need to escalate the situation. He’s here, isn’t he? Besides, we haven’t even questioned him yet.”

Kyle froze and looked around the room at the people that were gathered. “You think I killed that girl, don’t you.” Kyle shook his head and spoke directly to Sean. “This is unbelievable. I’ve done nothing!” He turned as if to leave, but the four men from Clinton blocked the door, their weapons at their hips, their fingers poised on the triggers.

Kyle took a deep breath and turned back inside. “What else do you want me to say? I’ve already told you everything.”

CHAPTER 12

Wednesday, January 18
^th

Central Wyoming

Rose struggled with the zipper of her old duffle bag. It hadn’t been used in years, and the metal teeth were unwilling to let the zipper head slide easily along. “Need to oil this,” Rose muttered, aware of her growing tendency to talk to herself, a habit that had recently started to worry her. She pulled the open end of the bag tight with her free hand, pressed down on the zipper and yanked, finally drawing it closed.

Smokey was hitched to the post by the back door and grazing on some of last year’s grass that was visible through the melting snow. Dusty, Smokey’s mother and the first horse Rose had acquired upon moving back to Wyoming, was tied to Smokey’s saddle and loaded with gear for Rose’s escape. Before arriving home, Rose had determined that not only was she no longer safe in her own home, she was now likely a target of the thugs who’d been there that morning, and she was sure they’d be back. She didn’t plan to be there when they returned.

Rose walked to the open front door and listened for the sound of a motor while scanning the road. Nothing. She hurried out the back door with the bag, tied it to Dusty’s saddle, then went back inside for more. She already had a tent, two sleeping bags, containers of food, and her duffle filled with clothing secured to the horses, along with both rifles and all the ammo she could find.

A map lay open on the kitchen table. Rose hurried over to it and took another look. Circled in red on the last fold of the Montana map was Deer Creek. “Hope you’re ready to return the favor, Kyle,” she whispered. For a couple of weeks after Kyle had left, she’d thought about following him to Montana, but there had still been people in Wyoming for her, and Max couldn’t have made the trip. Eventually, she’d chalked the notion up to a schoolgirl crush and fragile emotions and brushed it aside.

With her current situation, however, traveling to Deer Creek crazily seemed like her best alternative. The length of the journey, far longer than any pack trip she’d ever taken, scared her, but she couldn’t think of any more inviting options. She had no strong ties in Denver, where she’d lived long ago. Plus, a large city wasn’t exactly the smartest place for a person to escape to. She had no family around, with one of her sons overseas, and the other in Atlanta, and a distant husband that hadn’t been a part of her life for a long time. None of her neighbors seemed willing or prepared to take her in long term. Her associates in the real estate profession were just that, associates. She belonged to no church, and lived too far from town to have belonged to a bowling league, or anything like that, and it wasn’t like you’d move in with someone you bowled with, at least not for more than a night or two. Looking back, Rose realized her life was disappointingly shallow, consisting of just her kids, her horses, and her job.

By her reckoning though, Kyle owed her. At great risk to herself, she had saved his life, and in their short time together, he’d become as good a friend as she’d had in the last ten years, maybe longer. If he turned her away, she’d figure something else out, but she didn’t see that happening. He’d had every opportunity to use her and lead her on and hadn’t. He was decent and sincere. He’d broken her heart, but for the best reason she could think of for a man to break a woman’s heart. No, he wouldn’t turn her away. Be surprised to see her? Of course, but she was sure he’d find her a place to stay, at least temporarily, and help her with food and friendship and be someone to talk to.

Beyond her connection with Kyle, Deer Creek had sounded like a good place to be—rural, but still with a sense of community, a river, mountains, and nice people—an ideal location and base from which to rebuild. Rose stuffed the map in her pocket and circled her house, looking for a few last-minute things to take. Pictures of the boys, her driver’s license, address book, and first aid kit were all tucked into her bags. She was making a final sweep of the house when she heard the bone chilling and unmistakable sound of an engine.

“Why so soon?” she cried out to herself as her stomach sank and the strength drained from her legs. She ran to the front door on weak legs and scanned the road. A couple miles away she saw the red truck heading her direction, followed closely by a white SUV. The vehicles approached slowly, their occupants probably cautious, unaware that it was a lonely, middle-aged woman who’d done so much damage. The vehicles stopped, and Rose watched briefly as men piled out, two from the truck and four from the SUV. “I love you, Max,” she shouted at his lifeless body still lying in the driveway. Then she hurried for the back door.

Smokey whinnied as she ran towards him, sensing her anxiety. “Easy boy,” she said as she untied his halter and rubbed his nose. “We have to go, pal. I need you to hang in there for me.” Bags tied behind the saddle made mounting difficult, but she got her leg over, swung the horse’s head to the side and kicked hard with her heels. Smokey turned and started away from the house. Dusty resisted as her lead rope pulled tight, then she too made the turn and followed behind Smokey.

The direct trail to the trees was in full view of the parked vehicles. Rose swung south of the house to avoid being seen, down into the creek bottom and up the far side. She was fifty yards from the trees when she heard the two vehicles draw closer. “Lets go, Smokey,” she urged, coaxing him to a run. The rope connected to Dusty pulled tight on Smokey’s saddle. Rose knew her horses’ loads were heavier than usual, but they needed to get into the cover of the trees in a hurry, or things would go bad fast.

She bounced in the saddle as the horses cantered towards the trees. The packs slapped against the horses’ sides, making noise, but not enough to drown out the whine of vehicles accelerating towards the house. Tires skidded to a stop in the gravel of her driveway, followed almost immediately by slamming door and a flurry of shots. Rose shrunk down low, certain bullets were coming her way. Instead she heard glass breaking at the house as countless weapons were fired, then someone shouted. With her horses nearly galloping, Rose hurried to take a final look at her home as they reached the shelter of the trees.

A single shot echoed as she turned, and a bullet careened by overhead. She spotted one of the men with his rifle aimed in her direction. “Go!” she screamed as the horses slowed for the trees, kicking hard and willing them into the safety of the forest. They plunged headlong into the growth, the branches clawing and slapping at her, trying to pull her from her mount as she broke virgin trail through the heavy branches. Rose gripped the saddle and tucked her head behind Smokey’s neck while kicking furiously as more shots rang out.

They were deep into the forest before she reined the animals in, allowing them to pick their way more carefully through the trees. She wiped blood from a scratch on her cheek as she drew the horses to a stop and listened. No more gunshots, but she could hear the dreaded engines sounding closer. “Please, no!” she cried, spurring the horses forward yet again.

The vehicles were moving towards her, likely following an old trail her sons had cut with their 4-wheelers years back, one that led from the house up onto the ridge overlooking the valley. The trail was narrow, bumpy, and hard to follow, especially after years of disuse, and unfortunately, it went in the direction she needed to go and would bring them far closer to her than she wanted.

“Move it, Smokey!” she urged, once again kicking him in the flanks. The gunshots had him on edge, and he lurched ahead, almost throwing her from the saddle. They pushed through the trees, picking their trail better than in the mad dash into the forest, but fear and urgency still overtook caution, and Rose endured a steady pummeling from low hanging branches.

Smokey pressed forward, sensing Rose’s panic and needing little coaching from her. He avoided the narrowest paths between trees, as the abuse from the branches was no more enjoyable for him than for her. Sweat lathered on his shoulders, and his breathing was labored. The trail was just ahead and visible to Rose. She glanced towards the house and saw nothing, despite the loud echo of the vehicles rolling through the trees.

She took a deep breath and drove forward, emerging from the trees and onto the trail before turning right. Free of the trees, Smokey and Dusty quickened their pace, the open space allowing them to run freer and faster. Rose was headed for a trail that cut across the side of the mountain a half-mile further up the hill. It was the trail she used to visit her neighbors and was familiar to her and her horses, plus it was winding and rocky, and far too narrow for any four-wheeled vehicle to follow.

Maybe there was a chance she could find that trail if she avoided the exposure of the road, but a rocky bluff cut across above them, and she wasn’t sure that she could pass it anywhere other than through a gap that the road used. She made a quick decision and stayed on the trail. They had galloped for two hundred yards when Rose felt Smokey suddenly surge ahead. She looked back to see Dusty falling behind, the lead rope dangling close to the horse’s feet. “Whoa, Smokey!” she shouted, reining him in and turning him back downhill towards his mother. He fought the change in direction, sensing the danger behind them, but Rose forced him back to Dusty, now walking slowly towards them.

Rose quickly leapt from the saddle, land awkwardly and stumbling into Dusty before catching herself on the pack. Rose snatched the end dangling from her saddle and tied it to the other end on Dusty’s halter. The horse eyed her as it breathed deeply, the air billowing in front of her in great silver clouds. “Time to go, girl,” Rose said as she remounted Smokey. A glance downhill told her that the white SUV, mostly obscured by the trees, was bouncing along the trail just three hundred yards back.

“Quick Smokey,” Rose said, urging him forward. “Before they see us.” They took off once again, driven harder by the glimpse of their pursuers so close behind. As they rounded a curve in the trail, Rose saw the path she wanted fifty yards ahead. The road they were on made a steep climb through the cut in the bluff, then turned right and ran along the ridge for a couple of miles before dropping back down on the far side of the woods in the direction of the highway. Rose’s trail cut left where the road turned right, followed the ridge for a distance, then dropped down on the far side into the cover of the trees, and angled away from her house and towards a neighboring ranch.

Rose held her breath as the horses slowed for the steeper climb to reach the fork where the trail and road diverged …thirty yards…twenty yards…ten yards. She was breathing a little easier as they turned onto the horse trail when she saw the vehicle round the bend fifty yards back and come into full view. She made eye contact with the driver, then saw the front seat passenger point towards her. The vehicle accelerated, bouncing wildly on the rough road and throwing its occupants hard against the roof.

Smokey was breathing hard, but Rose had to ignore his discomfort and drove her heels into his sides. “Last time, boy. Let’s go.” They raced down the trail, the horses rushing hooves on the rocks sounding like a stampede of a dozen animals. Behind her, Rose could see the SUV, an old Ford Bronco, rocking side to side as it accelerated up the steep section of road, going far faster than she imagined it could. “Run!” she screamed, knowing Smokey was approaching his limit. She felt one of his hooves slip on the rocks and he started to go down, then miraculously he caught himself and dashed forward, straining at the bit in his mouth.

They raced ahead, Rose ducking low, afraid to look back. From the sound of the engine, she knew the Bronco was fighting the steep grade of the last section of road. She could see, just a little further ahead, where the trail turned and dropped down, hidden from her pursuers by the trees, where they would be safe, out of range, and impossible to follow except on foot. The Bronco’s engine went quiet, then doors slammed and men shouted, followed by gunshots just as Smokey turned into the cover of the trees.

Having struggled to breathe since the Bronco came bouncing towards them, Rose finally let out a lungful of air as they rushed headlong into the cover of the trees, and further down the hillside, quickly putting more and more distance between them. Her whole body shook, and she hunched forward, grasping Smokey’s mane in her hands, squeezing, pressing tight with her legs to stay in control, knowing she didn’t have the luxury of allowing her emotions to take over.

They rode non-stop for thirty minutes, gradually slowing as Dusty labored more and more to keep up. The sound of the vehicle had faded in the distance, and the ensuing silence was a welcome relief. They approached a stream where the horses could drink and rest, miles from the men chasing her and safe from the threat of gunfire.

At the stream, Rose dismounted and stretched her legs. It was dark and cold, but there was less ice than was typical for mid-January. Rose rubbed Smokey as he dipped his head to the water. “Good boy. Good boy,” she repeated, briefly resting her forehead on his shoulder. After untying Dusty, Rose led the mare to the stream, noticing a limp as she turned. “You okay, girl?” she questioned while patting Dusty’s neck and checking the saddle. A dark streak on the right rear leg caught her eye, and Rose reached out to inspect it, drawing back fingers that were wet and sticky with blood.