Slickrock (Gail McCarthy Mystery) (23 page)

"The horses need to eat."

"I know," I agreed. "So do we."

"We'll spend a few hours here, then."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Better give me some codeine, and save the shots for when we travel."

"All right." I got the small vial of codeine tablets out of my saddlebag. Six tablets-stashed for emergencies.

"This is going to make you drowsy," I said.

He gave me half a smile. "I better stay in bed."

"You do that," I said, as he swallowed a tablet. "Do you think we can risk a fire?"

We both glanced around. The rocky walls that ringed Benson Lake on all sides were quiet in the sunlight, the little meadow and the beach empty except for us. It all looked perfectly safe. Snipers seemed ridiculous.

"Sure, why not? They can see us in the daylight, if they're looking. A fire won't change anything."

"Okay. I'll make coffee."

Once the fire was made and the coffeepot was on, I poured some dog food for Roey. The little freckled dog wagged her tail and looked at me in a shy and ingratiating way. I laughed out loud.

"Can I feed her, too?" I asked Blue.

"Sure. There's some dog food in my pack."

"Okay." I got the dog food and poured some on the ground. "Here, Freckles," I said.

She walked up to me and lifted her head for a pat, which I gave her, then dipped her whiskered muzzle to the food. I laughed again.

"What are you laughing at?" Blue asked me.

"Your dog."

"Poor Freckles. Everybody thinks she's funny-looking."

"It's the blue eyes. Or maybe that terrier muzzle. I don't know. She's pretty cute. Do you want me to turn your horses loose?"

"You can turn the gelding loose if you want. He won't fight with the other horses and he won't leave the mare."

"Okay. What are their names?" I smiled. I had a thing about that. I always liked to know the names of the horses I handled.

"The gelding's Dunny," Blue said.

It figured. Cowboys often called horses by their colors. Bays were Bay, sorrels Sorrelly, buckskins Bucky, blacks Blacky ... et cetera. Naturally the big dun horse was Dunny.

"I call the mare Little Witch," Blue went on.

I laughed again. "That fits."

He smiled over at me. "She just likes to act cross. She's really pretty sweet. She's just a four-year-old."

I grinned at him. "I used to ride a horse like that. He pinned his ears all the time, and acted like he wanted to eat you, but he'd do anything for you." This was Burt, Lonny's head horse.

"Yeah. This filly's like that. I owned her mother, and I've raised this one since she was born. She acts ornery, but she's not, really. She's been easy to train. Better not turn her loose, through. The geldings might fight."

I nodded. In my experience this was true. Mares were a problem, even if they were sweet-tempered themselves. All the geldings fell in love with them and fought for their favors. It didn't seem to matter that the relationship was necessarily going to be platonic; the geldings got pretty damn devoted. This was a major nuisance and one of the reasons I refused to own a mare.

I turned Dunny loose and watched as he sniffed noses with Gunner. No squeals, no strikes. Gunner pinned his ears in a mild way, stating that he intended to be dominant, and Dunny moved off submissively and began eating grass. No problem.

I walked back to camp and poured coffee. Blue propped himself against a log and took the cup I handed him. Sitting down on a rock, I took the first hot sip.

Our eyes met. He smiled. "Ahh," he said.

"It sure tastes good," I agreed.

I stretched my back, feeling the warmth of the sun through my tank top. Sipped some more coffee and stared at the lake. "There's an island right in the middle," I said.

"Yeah. I swam out there once. It's pretty big for an island in a Sierra lake. Almost half an acre, I'd say. Mostly rocks. There's a couple of trees and a little flat spot where it looks like somebody camped once."

''That must have been interesting." I could see a couple of pines and a rocky outcropping from where I sat. Looked like it would be a decent swim. If this were still a vacation, I'd be thinking of swimming out there in the afternoon.

My eyes went back to the man beside me. He raised his coffee cup to his lips with his left hand; I could see the faint wince of pain at the movement. Sitting here in the sunshine, everything seemed peaceful and relaxing, but there was no getting around it, Blue had been shot.

We needed to get him to a doctor, and more than that, we needed to get out of the backcountry, on the chance that whoever had shot him was after us. But I still sat, feeling the sun on my back, idly watching my companion.

He raised his cup again and I saw the long muscles in his arm tighten; the light sparkled on the red-gold hairs of his forearm as on fine copper wires. I allowed the thought to cross my mind: This was really an attractive man.

For a moment I stopped to wonder what attraction is composed of, anyway. Would another woman think Blue Winter was attractive? I didn't know. All I knew was that his long, lean body, red-gold hair and quiet gray eyes were speaking to my physical self in a constant, powerful way.

Then I shrugged. He probably had a girlfriend. I had a boyfriend. For all I knew, he didn't find me physically attractive at all. Not to mention, his mind was hardly likely to be on such matters, not with a bullet in his arm.

"How about a granola bar for breakfast?" I asked.

“
All right." He said it without enthusiasm.

"I know. But it's quick and we should probably get organized to go. How long a ride is it to Bridgeport?”

"A solid eight hours."

"We'd better leave in an hour or so."

"You're right."

We regarded each other morosely. Packing up seemed like a big chore. Better than getting shot, though. I handed Blue two granola bars. "Eat these," I said. "You'll feel better."

"Okay."

We munched; I watched the horses graze. The dogs snoozed in the sunshine; the remains of my morning fire flickered. It was all so damn tranquil. ''I'd like to have a quick wash before we pack up to go," I said, as I stood up.

"Go right ahead." Blue looked rueful. "I'd like one, too, but I don't think I can manage it." He smiled up at me. "I don't think I'm going to be much help saddling and packing the horses, either."

"That's okay. I can do it. Is there anything you want before I go down to the lake?"

"No. I'll be fine."

"Okay." I took my boots off, got a towel and some soap, and started off across the sand. Benson Lake glittered ahead of me; the beach was warm and soft under my feet. I stared up at the towering rock walls that surrounded the water. This was really a unique spot.

The lake sat in the bottom of what was more or less a thimble. The canyon we'd ridden down was the only way in, the half mile of beach with the small meadow beyond it the only level ground along the shoreline. By the looks of it, it would be absolutely impossible to ride around this lake, and damn difficult to walk.

I was nearing the water; it was an odd feeling to be standing on a white sand beach lapped with little waves in the middle of the Sierras. Granite cliffs glowed in the sunshine. Suddenly, to my amazement, I heard a coyote howl. The sound echoed off the rocks and seemed to float upward-sweet, eerie, melodious-uncanny in the bright light of morning.

I stood still. Another coyote answered the first, and then another. The cliffs carried the sound. Many voices now, as the howls rose to a long keening and then a crescendo of sharp ki-yi-yi's, bouncing off the walls, seeming to come from all directions.

Mesmerized, I stood like a statue, as the strange serenade filled the bowl of Benson Lake. I had never heard coyotes sing like this in broad daylight. What could it mean? Perhaps there was a den in these rocks.

The sound died. One last voice rose in a solitary, mournful howl. Then all was quiet. After a minute I walked forward and stepped into the lake.

Icy water lapped my ankle; I jerked my foot sharply out and whistled. This lake was cold. For a minute I rethought my bathing plans. Maybe I'd just stay dirty.

You'll feel better if you wash, I told myself. You've got a long ride ahead of you. But I damn well wasn't going swimming.

I splashed water on my face and hands, washed my armpits briefly, and brushed my teeth. Then I toweled off, feeling a little cleaner and a lot wider awake.

I could see Gunner and Dunny, a little ways down the beach, drinking out of the lake. I needed to take Plumber and Little Witch down for a drink before I packed them, I reminded myself.

Gunner lifted his head, ears up, staring out over the lake. Suddenly with a snort, he whirled and ran, Dunny following him. For a second they thundered toward me along the beach, running free, manes and tails flying, a poster come to life. I watched them with a wide grin as they swerved off across the sand and galloped back to the meadow and their companions. Those two were feeling fresh enough to travel, anyway.

Making my own, much slower, way back to camp, I untied Plumber and the mare and led them down to the lake, taking care to keep them well separated so they didn't fuss. No use getting a horse kicked if I could help it.

Bringing them back, I tied them to trees near the gear and caught Gunner and Dunny. Blue watched me without a word. It didn't look like he'd moved all morning. I was beginning to worry about how he would deal with the traveling. Maybe another shot would do the trick.

The brightness seemed to have gone out of the morning; as I brushed the two saddle horses and put pads and blankets on their backs, I could see a haze in the air.

I heaved the saddles up and cinched them lightly, tied the saddlebags in place, and looked at Blue. He sat on the other side of the fire pit, half propped against his log, staring out across the meadow. I could smell the acrid tang of wood smoke, mingling with the clear, piney mountain smell. Camp smells of wood smoke, always.

I started to brush Plumber and looked back at Blue. His face had a fixed expression. I turned around to look where he was looking. For a second I saw nothing, just the meadow under the hazy sky. Just the smell of smoke.

Then I got it.

"My God," I said. "There's a fire."

TWENTY-TWO

Up the canyon," Blue affirmed. I couldn't read either his expression or his tone.

"Jesus, what do we do?"

"It depends," he said.

Smoke was growing thicker in the air every moment; panic grew inside of me. "Depends on what?" I knew my voice was shrill.

"Get the binoculars out of my saddlebag." I got them and went to his side. He raised them to his eyes with his good hand and pointed them up the canyon. There was a long moment of silence, then he lowered them.

"See for yourself."

I looked. For a second everything was a blur; I adjusted the focus-instant sharpness. It didn't tell me much. Heavy clouds of smoke billowing into the air at the head of the canyon, that was it.

"So what do you see?" I demanded.

"The fire's in the canyon and the wind's blowing this way," he said.

I looked at the aspen trees in the meadow. Sure enough, the ever-present Sierra wind pulled their feathery tops in the direction of the lake.

"So the fire will burn toward us," I said.

"That's right."

"So, what do we do?" I could hear my voice rising.

"We've got a couple of choices," he said. "I don't think riding up the canyon is a good one; fires are unpredictable, and that wind is rising. We could get ourselves in real trouble." I listened to him, trying to keep my chattering nerves on hold. "We could wait it out, on the beach," he said. His laconic tone was getting to me.

"Is that going to work?" I demanded.

“
Probably. "

I stared at him. His face was quiet and he seemed in no hurry to do anything. "What are our other options, in your opinion?" I asked him.

"I guess the safest thing we could do is hike around the lake to the far end. It's all rock; the fire won't get there. We'd be perfectly safe."

"And leave the horses here?"

"We can't take them around the lake; it's impossible. I've hiked down to the far end before." He gave me a brief smile. "You'd probably have to leave me, too. I don't think I could make it with this arm."

I looked at him, then looked out over the lake; smoke haze, gray as fog, filled the air of the bowl. Without a word, I walked to Gunner and got the torbugesic and the syringe out of my saddlebags.

"I'm giving you a shot," I said to Blue.

"All right." He rolled his sleeve back. "You want to try hiking, then?"

I met his eyes. "And leave the horses?"

"We'd have to."

"Is that what you want to do?" I asked him.

"No. I'd wait it out on the beach, and stay with them."

"Would we be okay, do you think? On the beach. Holding the horses." I injected the shot into his vein.