Blind Fury (16 page)

I never ride alone. You scared everyone to death. You broke every rule! Why did you sneak away
? The angel was on her shoulder again, reminding her of every word she'd said to Ryan.

Because if I had told Anne, she would have said to wait
.

But this couldn't wait! Dad and Greg needed help, and in this kind of weather, every minute counted.

Her boots fit snugly over two pairs of socks. She grabbed an extra set of long underwear and two more pairs of socks, then scribbled a note for Anne.

Adrenaline spurred her on as she crept down the stairs. She peeked into the family room and counted heads. The drapes were drawn so the room was darker, but she could make out the forms: Anne in the recliner, Ryan curled up on the couch, Colin snoring softly from his sleeping bag closest to the woodstove. She ignored a stab of guilt. They would be worried about her, but that was good! Maybe then Sheriff Lassen would cooperate and send in the troops.

Her heavy parka and fur-lined gloves were in the mudroom. Thanks to the woodstove that Anne kept burning in the kitchen, they were warm and dry. She tugged them on, added a wool cap underneath the hood of her jacket, and eased open the back door. Careful not to let the screen slam behind her, she stepped out into the bright, clear night.

The first breath of crisp air made her gasp.
Whoa! Who said it wasn't cold
! Steam poured from her nostrils as she exhaled, and her eyes watered as she gazed into the still, white light.

“Okay, God,” she whispered, “I know You're there. Keep me safe and help me find them, please?” She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Blowing into her cupped hands, she drew the warm air back into her lungs, then straightened her shoulders and stepped off the porch into the snow.

The stuff underneath was packed, but the powdery surface would make it fairly easy to plow through. Five steps though, and she wished Colin were in front of her breaking trail. She turned and looked back toward the house. It looked solid and warm. She almost turned around. Should she wake Colin and somehow convince him to go with her?
But what if he refused? Worse, what if Anne woke up? They would make her stay. She had to do this on her own.

It took nearly fifteen minutes to shuffle to the barn. Her feet were already numb, and she almost whimpered with gratitude as she stepped through the crack in the sliding door and inhaled warmer air.

The horses shifted in their stalls, and Lily blew softly in greeting. Kara reached through the bars and rubbed the mare's nose. “Hey, girl,” she whispered, “you want to go for a ride?”

She gave both of the horses a half pad of hay to keep them quiet, then moved into the tack room. Quickly she sorted through the gear, stuffing what she needed into one set of saddlebags and one backpack.

She had grabbed a package of homemade trail mix from the kitchen; peanuts, raisins, dried fruit, and chocolate candy could sustain a person for days. Along with the fruit rolls, coffee, and elk jerky that they had left in the packs, she should have enough food.

Breathing a prayer of thanks that the men had insulated the pipes in the barn while they were doing the bunkhouse, she filled the two largest canteens and set them near the hay bales with the rest of the gear. She went back into the tack room to get Lily's saddle, but something was nagging at the edge of her consciousness. Something Anne had said to Colin after the fire.

The memory came as clearly as if they were standing in the room. “Lily was afraid,” the cook had said when they visited her at the hospital. “Dakota is the horse to have when trouble comes.” Wakara had felt a little insulted, but the mare
had
spooked and thrown Anne into a tree.

Kara thought about it. Dakota was bigger and stronger. His legs were long and solid, and his feet were huge—big
enough to plow through snow. Up in Alaska, Colin had ridden the buckskin through worse weather than this.

Okay, Anne's right
, she reasoned.
Dakota is the horse for this job
.

That decision made, she didn't waste any more time. It was thirty miles by road to the Pine Creek trailhead. Eagle Lodge nestled in the valley, another eight miles down the steep, switchback trail, and three more across open meadows. They had always driven the horses in a trailer from here to Pinewood Meadow, but that was impossible now. She would have to ride all the way.

She brushed Dakota, laid two cotton blankets and a pad across his back, then quickly lengthened the girth on her saddle. It was a little small for the big gelding. She thought about riding bareback, but quickly dismissed the idea. If the going got rough, she might need something to hold on to.

She led Dakota to the mounting block, stepped into the saddle, then hesitated. Which way? The road was out of the question. Someone might see her and make her turn back. The forest trail ended several miles from town, but in the wrong direction.

“Carlsons'!” She shivered and pulled the strings to the hood of her jacket tighter around her ears. That path was narrow, but it was short. She could lead Dakota if she had to. Besides, cutting through their fields would take a good ten miles off the trip.

Dakota covered the ground quickly, pushing easily through the trees on the narrow trail. Kara avoided overhead branches by lying as flat as she could against the horse's neck. When they broke through near the paddock on the Carlsons' land, she reined Dakota in and studied the landscape. The quickest way was through the west pasture, then along the gravel road until they hit the forest
service road that would take them over the hill to Pinewood Meadow.

The big horse didn't hesitate, but moved out as if he'd done this all his life.
He probably has
, Kara thought, but, a half hour into the ride, she knew it wouldn't be as easy as she thought. For one thing, it was hard to get her bearings in the stark, white landscape. Once the Carlsons' farmhouse was out of sight, she had trouble finding the narrow strip of country road.

Dakota must have sensed her hesitation; he pulled against the bit, obviously wanting to pick up the pace. Open country to him meant a nice, brisk run, but she couldn't chance it. If they missed the road, they'd wind up lost in the mountains.

“Whoa.” She tugged on the reins, and the big gelding reluctantly obeyed.

“I don't know about you,” she told her restless companion, “but I'm hungry.” And thirsty, she suddenly realized. It had been stupid to leave the house without eating and drinking first. Not to mention the fact that she didn't dare get off her horse. Dakota was too tall for her to remount alone, and there wasn't a stump in sight.

By twisting in the saddle, she was able to untie a canteen. The water tasted a little brackish, but she didn't care. Dakota snorted with impatience as she dug through the saddlebags for a fruit roll and a piece of jerky.
Some breakfast
! But it would have to do.

She nudged the gelding's sides with the heels of her boots, sending him forward, then at an angle to the right. He plowed through the snow up over his hocks like it was no big deal, and she knew she had chosen the right horse. Lily would never have made it.

A few minutes later, they found the road. Kara breathed a sigh of relief and eased up on the reins. Dakota obliged
by quickening his pace and took them swiftly along, slowing only a little when the track began to climb into the woods. They crossed a narrow wooden bridge, and she guided the gelding down to the water's edge. He drank gratefully, then turned and stripped a mouthful of needles from the nearest pine tree.

Wakara could have kicked herself again for not bringing more grain.

“Hang on, boy. We'll be at Eagle Lodge before you know it.”

T
HE
SKY
HAD
LIGHTENED
to a pale shade of gray when Wakara rode into Pinewood Meadow. Her hands were so numb she couldn't feel the reins, and her feet inside her boots felt like blocks of ice. Dakota stopped at the trailhead and would go no farther. His breath sent whiffs of steam into the thin cold air. Every time she tried to urge him on, he danced backward trying to turn away. Her own breath puffed into the wool lining of her parka hood.

“You remember, don't you, boy?” Pinewood Meadow was where they had found the horses grazing after the fire. Both Dakota and Lily had made a dash up the narrow Pine Creek trail through smoke and flames. No wonder he was spooked about going down there again. She patted his neck and turned him away from the trail. She knew she should dismount and get them both something to eat and drink, but one look around the barren landscape told her she'd never get back on again.

She shifted in the saddle and cried out as pain shot up her back and down both legs. Her eyes stung and she could hardly keep them open. What time was it? She knew she'd
been riding for hours, but the weak winter light made it hard to tell. Besides, her head felt as if someone had replaced her brain with a wad of cotton.

She forced herself to stretch in the saddle, then turned Dakota toward the water trough at the far corner of the meadow. He nuzzled aside several inches of snow, popped through a thin coating of ice, and drank greedily while she reached for her own canteen. With any other horse she would have had to find some way to warm the water so he didn't get a bellyache, but Dakota had been raised in Alaska. “He's used to the cold,” Colin had said, “and he's got an iron gut.”

Please, God, let that be true
.

She pulled off her gloves with her teeth and stuck her hands under her armpits to warm them. She winced as needles of pain shot through her fingers and wrists. When she could finally use her fingers, she undid one of the saddlebags, grabbed a small, round container of grain, and spread half the contents on the ground. Dakota scarfed it up before she'd even opened her own snack, and was eagerly searching the ground for more.

Kara chuckled and patted his neck again. “Later, boy, we've still got a ways to go.”

She threw another handful of peanuts and raisins into her mouth, then zipped the bag shut and stowed it in her pack. When she had rubbed some feeling back into her legs, she turned Dakota once more toward the trailhead. This time he hesitated but didn't fight as she directed him down the trail.

Kara looked for the spot where they had discovered Colin and Anne hiding in a cave after the fire, but all the trees and brush at the beginning of the trail looked different in the bright white snow.

Snow also helped to mask the devastation from the fire, but she could hardly stand to look at the ruined forest.
Stark, black skeletons were all that remained of the trees still standing. As Dad had said, the trail was clear of fallen limbs, but the underbrush on the cliff side was gone, leaving a head-spinning view of the valley below.

Dakota picked his way carefully down the narrow, switchback trail, while Wakara kept her eyes straight ahead and tried to concentrate on her goal. Dad and Greg—finding them was the only thing that mattered. “Please, God, let them be at the lodge.” She felt a surge of hope that quickly died as questions plagued her. If they were there, why didn't they answer her calls? The radio equipment had just been repaired. There was no way it should be malfunctioning again. She knew the problem wasn't with the set in Lariat—she had talked to Tia, and the reception had been fine. That meant either Dad wasn't there to hear her call, or for some reason was unable to answer.

Flutters of anticipation and fear racked her belly as the trail flattened out and they came into the clearing by Otter Lake. Kara gasped. Greg had told her the fire had burned the hottest here, but she wasn't prepared for the devastation she saw around her. Everything green was gone. No live trees, no bushes—nothing to break up the stark landscape except for tangles of snow-covered branches, heaped like piles of pickup sticks scattered over the forest floor.

The lake had shrunk to a dull, dark pool. A blanket of snow covered the barren ground, with only a few blackened tree stumps sticking up like markers in a graveyard. She realized again what a miracle it was that Colin and Anne had gotten out alive.

Dakota plodded, head down, along the familiar route. Every so often he would snort and shake his head as if trying to rid his nostrils of some putrid smell. Kara loosened the hood of her parka and risked a breath of the cold air. It
smelled vaguely of damp soot, and she knew that for a horse the odor would be several times as strong.

As the ground leveled out, Dakota picked up his pace. Then, as they neared Eagle Lodge, he plowed through the snow as if his huge feet were merely parting water. Kara laughed as his head came up and his ears began to twitch like radar. “We're getting close now, aren't we, boy?” But her spirits plummeted again as they broke out of the meadow onto the narrow landing strip that ran between the river and the lodge.

“Whoa.” She halted Dakota at the base of the hill. He strained at the bit, sensing food and shelter at the familiar hundred-year-old barn.