Black Hills (16 page)

When she stomped out, he scooped up another bite of pie, glad to be alone again.

8

It took little time for Lil to swing back into routine. She had everything she wanted—her place, her work, like-minded people to work with, the animals. She caught up with the mail and phone calls best dealt with personally, spent time working on proposals for grants.

There was never enough money.

She needed time to get to know the new crop of interns who’d come on while she’d been in the Andes, and to look over the reports of animals they’d treated and released—the injured wild brought to them.

She fed animals, cleaned them and their enclosures, assisted Matt in treating them. Days filled to bursting with the sheer physical demands. Evenings she reserved for writing—articles, papers, grant proposals, the bits of behind-the-scenes color that could influence a browser on the website to click on Donations.

Every night, alone, she checked the scope for Baby’s siblings, and other cats and wildlife they’d tagged over the years.

They’d lost some, to hunting season, to other animals, or just to age or accident. But she currently had six cougars who had originated in the Black Hills, tagged by her or one of the staff. One, a young male when tagged, had traveled to Iowa, another had ranged into Minnesota. The female from Baby’s litter had localized in the southwest of the Black Hills, occasionally roaming over into Wyoming during mating season.

She plotted locations, calculated dispersal distances, and speculated on behavior and choice of territory.

She thought it was time to buy a new horse, and go tracking. She had time before the spring season to capture and evaluate, tag and release.

In any case, she wanted some time in her own territory.

“You should take one of the interns with you,” Tansy insisted.

She should, she should. Education and training were essential arms of the refuge. But . . .

“I’ll be quicker in and out on my own.” Lil checked a radio transmitter, then packed it. “I’ve waited until late in the season for this. I don’t want to dawdle. Everything’s under control here,” she added. “Plus someone’s got to check on the camera up there. It’s a good time for me to take a few days, deal with that and maybe get a capture and release.”

“And if weather comes in?”

“I’m not going that far, Tansy. We’re losing data with that camera out, so it has to be checked. If weather comes in, I’ll head back, or wait it out.”

She added a second transmitter. She could get lucky.

“I’ll have the radio phone.” She swung the tranquilizer gun over her shoulder by the strap, hefted her pack.

“You’re leaving
now
?”

“Plenty of day left. With luck, I might have a capture tonight or tomorrow, tag it, and be on my way back.”

“But—”

“Stop worrying. Now I’m going to go buy a good horse from a former friend. That works out, I’ll leave from there. I’ll stay in touch.”

She hoped the former friend was in town or at the trailhead, dealing with his rental stock, customers, whatever he did with his days. She could horse-trade with Sam or Lucy, and avoid the annoyance of doing business with Coop.

Especially since he’d made it clear he wanted her to mind her own.

And to think she’d made a sincere effort to be friendly, to let bygones be. Well, screw that. If he wanted to be pissy, she’d be pissy right back.

But she wanted a good horse. Annoyance didn’t mean taking chances on the trail, and her usual mount was getting too old for this kind of trip.

Odds were, Lil thought as she drove to the neighboring farm, she’d be able to do no more than verify territory and activity on this little trip. She might get a sighting, but an actual capture and tag was a long shot. Worth it though, to add to her proposed ten-year study.

And it would give her the chance to see what, if any, human activity there might be.

When she arrived, she noted the ring and buzz—hammer and saw—from the bunkhouse. She recognized one of the trucks parked by the building as belonging to a local carpenter. Curiosity had her heading in that direction.

A mistake, she realized when Coop stepped out.

Business, she told herself. Just do the business.

“I need to buy a horse.”

“Something happen to yours?”

“No. I’m looking for one experienced on the trail. Mine’s getting on. I’d be looking for one between five and eight, say. Steady, mature, sound.”

“We don’t sell horses that aren’t sound. Going somewhere?”

She angled her head, spoke coolly. “Do you want to sell me a horse, Cooper?”

“Sure. I figure we both want me to sell you the right horse. Makes a difference if you want one for some pleasure riding on the trail, or one for working.”

“I work, so I need a horse who’ll work with me. And I want it today.”

“You’re planning on heading up today?”

“That’s right. Look, I’m going to try for a quick trap-and-tag. I need a reliable mount who can handle rough ground and has some nerve.”

“Have you spotted any cats near your place?”

“For somebody who wants me to mind my business, you sure are hell-bent on minding mine.”

“My horse,” he said.

“I haven’t seen anything within the sanctuary. We’ve got a camera out, and I want to check on it. Since I’m doing that, I’m going to set up a live trap and see if I get lucky. I’m planning on two days, three at most. Satisfied?”

“I thought you took a team for tagging.”

“If that’s the primary goal. I’ve handled it myself before. I’d like to buy that horse, Cooper, before spring. If it’s all the same to you.”

“I’ve got a six-year-old gelding that might suit you. I’ll bring him out so you can take a look.”

She started to say she’d just go with him, then changed her mind. She’d stay put. Less need for conversation. Less chance she’d give in and ask if she could see what was going on inside the old bunkhouse.

She liked the look of the gelding right off. He was a handsome brown-and-white piebald with a long slash down to his nose. His ears and eyes stayed alert as Coop led him over to the paddock fence.

The sturdy build told her he’d carry her and her gear without trouble.

He didn’t shy or sidestep when she checked his legs, his hooves. He jerked his head some when she checked his mouth, his teeth, but didn’t try any nip.

“He handles well. Got some spunk so we don’t use him unless the rider’s experienced. He likes to move.” Coop gave the gelding a rub. “He’s steady, he just gets bored if he’s doing nothing but plodding along in a line of others. Tends to stir up trouble. Likes to be in the lead.”

“What are you asking?”

“Since you’re buying a horse, you’ve got your saddle with you. Saddle him up, ride him around some. Take your time. I’ve got a couple things to see to.”

She did just that. The gelding gave her one curious look, as if to say, This isn’t usual. Then stood patiently while she saddled him, switched the tack for her own. When she mounted, he did a little shift and quiver in place.

Are we going? Are we?

She clucked her tongue and sent him into a quick, happy trot. She used sounds, her knees and heels, her hands to test him on commands. Well-trained, she concluded, but she’d expected no less from Wilks’s stock.

She figured her high end, and the price she’d like to pay, while she worked the gelding through paces and turns.

He’d do, she thought. He’d do just fine.

She slowed to a walk when Coop came back, leading a bay mare already saddled. “Has this one got a name?”

“We call him Rocky. Because he just keeps going.”

That got a laugh out of her. “He fits the bill. What are you asking?”

He named a price, right at her high end, then walked toward the house to retrieve a pack he’d set on the porch.

“That’s a little steeper than I’m looking for.”

“We can dicker on the trail.”

“I’ll give you . . . what?”

“I’m going with you.”

Flustered, she nearly stuttered. “No you’re not.”

“My horse.”

“Listen, Cooper.” She cut herself off, took a breath. “Why do you think, mistakenly, you’re going with me?”

“My grandparents could use some time without me underfoot. I’m tired of hearing the banging. We’re slow right now, so Gull can handle things for a day or two. And I feel like a little camping.”

“Then camp somewhere else.”

“I’m going with the horse. You’d better get your gear.”

She dismounted, looped the reins around the fence. “I’ll give you a fair price for him. Then he’s my horse.”

“You’ll give me a fair price when we get back. Consider it a test drive. If you’re not happy with him after, no charge for the rental.”

“I don’t want company.”

“I’m not looking to be company. I’m just going with the horse.”

She swore, shoved at her hat. The longer this went on, she realized, the more she wanted that damn horse. “Fine. You keep up or I leave you behind. You’d better have your own tent, your own gear, your own food, because I’m not sharing. And keep your hands to yourself, this isn’t a ride down memory lane.”

“Same goes.”

 

 

 

HE DIDN’T KNOW why he was doing it. All the reasons he gave were true enough, but they weren’t the why. The simple fact was he didn’t particularly want to be with her for an hour, much less a day or two—it was just easier to steer clear.

But he didn’t like the idea of her going by herself.

Stupid reason, he admitted as they rode in silence. She could go where she wanted and when. He couldn’t stop her if he’d wanted to. And she could have gone without him knowing about it, and if he hadn’t known about it he wouldn’t have thought about it. And wondered if she was okay.

So when he looked at it that way, it was easier to go than to stay.

In any case, the impulsive trip had some clear advantage. The first was the blessed quiet. He could hear the wind whisper through the trees, and the clomp of hooves on snowy ground, the creak of leather.

For a day or two he wouldn’t have to think. About payroll, overhead, grooming, feeding, his grandfather’s health, his grandmother’s mood.

He could do what he hadn’t had the time, and maybe not the inclination, to do since he’d come back to South Dakota.

He could just be.

They rode for a full hour without a word between them before she pulled up and he came up alongside her.

“This is stupid. You’re stupid. Go away.”

“Have you got a problem breathing the same air as I do?”

“You can breathe all the air you want.” She waved a hand in a circle. “There are miles of air. I just don’t see the point in this.”

“There is no point. We’re just going in the same direction.”

“You don’t know where I’m going.”

“You’re going up to the grassland where you saw the cougar take down the buffalo calf. The same place, more or less, we found the body.”

Her eyes sharpened. “How do you know that?”

“People talk to me whether I want them to or not. They talk to me about
you
whether I want them to or not. That’s where you usually go when you go on your own.”

She shifted, seemed to struggle. “Have you been back since?”

“Yeah, I’ve been back.”

She clucked to Rocky to get him moving again. “I guess you know they never found whoever did it.”

“He might’ve done others.”

“What? What others?”

“Two in Wyoming, one in Idaho. Solo female hikers. The second one two years after Melinda Barrett. Another thirteen months later. The last six months after that.”

“How do you know?”

“I was a cop.” He shrugged. “I looked into it. Ran like crimes, did some work on it. Blow to the head, stabbing, remote areas. He takes their pack, ID, jewelry. Leaves them for the animals. The others are open and unsolved. Then it stopped, after four killings, it stopped. Which means he’s moved on to other types of kill, or he got busted for something else and he’s inside. Or he’s dead.”

“Four,” she said. “Four women. There must’ve been suspects or leads.”

“Nothing that panned out, or stuck. I think he’s inside, or dead. It’s a long stretch without anything that matches his pattern.”

“And people don’t change that much. Not the basics,” she added when he looked at her. “That’s what killing is. It’s basic. If it’s the same killer, it’s not because he knows the victim, right? Not especially. It’s the type of victim—or prey. Female, alone, in a specific environment. His territory might range, but his prey didn’t. When a predator is successful in its hunting, it continues.”

She rode in silence for a moment, then went on when he didn’t respond. “I thought, or convinced myself, that Melinda Barrett was some sort of accident. Or at least a onetime thing. Someone she knew, or someone who knew her, targeted her.”

“You put a marker where we found her.”

“It seemed there should be one. There should be something. I tagged a young male up there four years ago. He’s moved on to Wyoming. That’s where the camera went down a couple days ago. It’s infrared, motion. We get a lot of hits. The animal cams, on the refuge and in the field, are popular on the website.”

She caught herself. She hadn’t meant to get into conversation with him. Not that it was, really. More of a monologue.

“You’ve sure gotten chatty over the years,” she commented.

“You said you didn’t want company.”

“I didn’t. Don’t. But you’re here.”

So he’d make an attempt. “Do the cameras go out often?”

“They require regular maintenance. Weather, wildlife, the occasional hiker play hell with them.” She stopped when they reached the stream. Snow lay in drifts and piles, crisscrossed with the tracks of animals who came to hunt or to drink.