Courage Dares (14 page)

There was so much about Mary he wished to discover. Her likes and dislikes, the things that brought her happiness. She seemed like a woman who’d take pleasure in the simple things—a flower, a smile, a word of love. When the sun had set, earlier, she had stood for a moment outside the tent, watching with what Connor considered a pensive smile, her face glowing as it caught the last rays.

A beautiful face. At least to him. Her expression radiated warmth, as soft and free of guile as a lamb.

Sometime in her life, probably before her mother's death, Mary must’ve been the delight of everyone who knew her. He wondered if he’d ever see her carefree and happy, with soft lights dancing in her eyes.

He needed to keep her hopes up—not let her get so depressed that she stopped resisting. Casting about for a topic, he said the first thing that came to mind.

Connor shifted in his sleeping bag so that Mary could reach the aching muscles in his neck. "We need to start thinking of ways to escape,” he said. “You have any ideas?”

"Not really."

He felt her hands stop moving, then resume, the pressure rougher, more determined. The tension eased in his neck. She worked for a few more minutes, then moved aside to check the snow melting in the pan. The filtered light within the tent cast a soft light over her, emphasizing her beauty.

He peered out through a spot where the flaps didn't quite touch. The other two tents formed a triangle with this one, each leg about twenty feet apart. As long as they kept their voices low, Judd and his loudly talking men wouldn’t hear them.

"If we stay out long enough,” she said, “they're bound to get careless. Once we get your pack down to size, we can pick up the pace again, maybe wear them out. People do irrational things when they get overtired.”

“Like me.” When Ramone challenged them, he had stopped thinking and just acted. Almost got himself killed.

“Or hypothermic. They’d be helpless—"

"And then you'd want to rescue them," he added, feeling sarcastic.

"Oh." She paused. "I didn't think about that. I don't know...." She sat back and stared down at the pan. "Maybe you could go for help."

"I'm not leaving you, Mary. Besides, I'd get lost," he said, meaning it as a joke, but knowing it could easily be true once they got further into the Cascades. At this point he could simply follow their tracks out. Piece of cake.

"How much hiking have you done?" she asked, glancing over at him, her lovely gray eyes full of interest.

"Day hikes, mainly. We had some survival training, for deserts and mountains and jungles.”

“That’s good.”

“I know how to use a sheet of plastic to condense water, but I don't think that’d work out here."

She smiled, a slight twitch of her lips. “Why do you need jungle survival when you're on a ship?"

"I don't exactly stay on the ship. I fly off it—"

"You're a pilot?"

"Yes. Flying is my life. I’d never give it up. Once you've driven a jet, you never want to do anything else."

"I see."

She looked sad and he wondered why.

"You know, there's a hot spring several miles from here,” she said, dropping two food pouches into the pan of boiling water to cook.

“There is?”

“If we made camp close to it, we could walk to the spring after dark. I wouldn't actually be barefoot— I've got insulated booties in my pack to use around the tent. You could wear all three pairs of socks. We wouldn't be able to—"

"They'd follow our tracks the next morning, in the snow."

"Not if more snow happened to fall."

"You're wishing."

"I know."

"We can't depend on wishes."

"I know that, too," she said, sighing.

"But it’s an idea. Let's say we got our snow and made it to the springs. Can we get back to civilization?"

"No." She turned off the stove. "We could build three signal fires and hope someone found us."

“It’d just lead Judd to where we were.”

“Maybe.”

"We can't plan around 'maybes,' Mary. We have to deal with facts. Something that has an outside chance to work, if we try it."

"But what?"

"I don't know.” He huddled deeper into his bag. “If we got them separated, I might get a gun."

"Our best bet is at night. While they sleep."

“Yes. I could take the gun then—”

“I didn’t mean that. I meant to walk away. We’ll need to get our boots and coats.”

“I wish I wasn't so exhausted. It's hard to think clearly."

Mary pulled the food pouches out of the pan. "You'll feel better with some food in you. This is supposed to be Salisbury steak." She handed a pouch to Connor, then carefully stirred some dry soup mix into the bubbling water before opening her own.

Tearing off the top, Connor ate the meat, surprised at how good it tasted. He could eat ten pouches of meat— his body demanded more food— but Judd hadn’t been generous. Mary was already rationing their supplies.

He watched her as she worked, intent on getting the soup hot enough for them to drink. A gentle, beautiful woman. One who did for others. Mary was that kind of person. She took care of people.

And himself? He had been trained to kill. Hand to hand as well as from a distance. What did he have to offer such a woman? Nothing.

She filled a cup with soup and handed it to him. "It won't be very hot," she said. "At this altitude, water boils at a low temperature."

"I don't care. I'll take it lukewarm."

Connor found it just hot enough to drink enjoyably. The heat revitalized him. As refreshing to his body as Mary was to his spirits. He finished it and she poured him another.

"No, you take it," he protested.

"I’m okay. I've over a cupful left. You need the liquid. Drink up."

He did, watching as she filled her cup and drank from it, fascinated by the grace of her movements. He found himself watching for the way she quirked her eyebrows at an errant thought, and for the tiny smile that flickered across her lips whenever he made enough of a joke that she caught it.

Mary suddenly unzipped her sleeping bag, grabbed the pan and stood up. She had her hand on the tent flap before Connor realized it.

"Wait." He raised his voice to a shout. "We need more snow to melt. Mary's coming out. All right?"

"Come on,” one of the men shouted back.

Mary glanced ruefully at him. "Thanks. I forgot."

"No sense taking chances," he said, but felt glad that she had forgotten the danger, if for only a moment.

She opened the tent flap and hopped out. When she returned, she quickly zipped the door shut. "Forget walking to the springs," she whispered.

He laughed, but knew that he’d walk miles— barefoot— carrying her, if it’d save her life. The realization hit him like one of those snow bombs Mary had warned about.

Unsettled, he tried to joke. "I prefer the avalanche method, myself. Shove them out on a slope and watch them go."

"And you'd leave them? Injured? Or dying?"

She looked upset. She hadn’t taken it as a joke. So now what did he say? Somehow he had to get her mentally prepared to fight. Otherwise they’d lose the battle before it began.

"It'd be a good place to lose a few." He waved his hand, deprecatingly.

“But—”

“I know. I know. It goes against all your search and rescue training. But these men plan to kill us. Why save them?"

Mary plopped the pan on the stove and adjusted the flame with a determined set to her jaw. "People don't last long, covered with snow. An avalanche flows like water, but sets like concrete. I couldn't leave anyone helpless like that. I'd feel like a killer again. I'd rather be dead myself."

"Again?" He pressed her this time, wanting to learn more about her. "Whose death did you cause, Mary?"

Mary looked away, but Connor decided not to drop the matter this time. "I can't believe you deliberately killed anyone," he said.

"Of course not."

"Then whose...?"

With a groan, she covered her face. "My mother."

Connor recoiled in disbelief. "What makes you say that?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. You were just a child, Mary. You couldn't have stopped those men."

"I caused her death—"

"No, you didn't, Mary!" Connor hesitated, wishing he knew what to say. He had never had to deal with guilt. No wonder Mary hadn’t gotten over that day.

Tears flowed from her eyes and Connor awkwardly wiped them away with one finger. "Turn that stove off and get some rest," he insisted. "You've done enough for today."

Catching back a sob, Mary turned off the flame. Her body shook as she lowered herself down, and Connor reached out to pull her close. He threaded his fingers through the silky texture of her hair, delighting in the simple trust she showed as she laid her head upon the crook of his arm.

"Better?" he asked.

"A little. But nothing you say can change the past."

Connor shifted his weight in his bag, wishing he had removed his outer clothes like Mary had. He felt too hot, but he didn't want Mary to think she had to move away.

She shivered— he knew it wasn’t from the cold, but from sadness— and he pulled her closer, offering what comfort he could, wishing he could do more. After several minutes he felt her take a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.

"I'm better," she murmured— but didn't move away.

"That's good."

The tent flap was suddenly lifted and they both jumped as Judd looked inside. He glanced from one to the other, snorted, and let the flap drop again.

Connor listened to the sounds of his boots as he hobbled away. Judd’s interruption had unsettled him— which was probably the man’s purpose. Never let ‘em know when you’ll be checking up on them.

Mary had cried out, a soft bleat of a noise, scared once again. He could feel her shake and he silently railed against their situation.

She lay quietly for awhile, then spoke his name. "Connor?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me you won't antagonize them."

"Not deliberately. That's all I can promise, Mary."

"I see. I take it you won’t promise the moon if it's not yours to give."

"Correct. I only promise what I'm quite sure I can deliver."

She sighed, then nodded. "It's better that way. It keeps one from raising false hopes."

After that she did fall asleep— not stirring when Wes poked his head inside the tent around seven and again at midnight. Connor let her sleep until early the next morning.

"It's four a.m.," he whispered. "I could try for our boots."

She struggled into a sitting position, shaking the sleep away. "Let's."

"You roll up the bags. I'll search out the boots."

"Okay." She started to unzip her bag, then stopped. "No, it's not okay."

"What do you mean?"

"They won't shoot me. I must be the one who goes."

She was right, of course, but he couldn't stand having a woman go into danger while he stayed behind.

"It's my job, Mary. Not yours."

"We've no other choice. Right now, they need me. They won't do anything to me."

"I don't like it," Connor said, overcome by a feeling of revulsion. He had always been the point man. His teams had always depended on him to pull them through. Now— when it counted most— Mary wanted him to stay behind. Her reason— his death— simply wasn't strong enough. He’d rather die.

But if he died, Mary’d be alone. The thought stifled further objections. It made more sense for her to go. If they did attack her, he was just a few yards away, ready to fight for her. If she managed to get in and out of the tents undetected, she could save both their lives.

As unpalatable as it might be, Connor realized he must accept it. He gave her hand a firm squeeze. He wanted to stop her, but prevented himself from doing so.

"Be careful," he said.

"I will."

"If Ramone wakes up...."

She took a quick breath and squeezed his hand in return. "If anything happens, I'll scream."

Unable to respond in any other way, Connor pulled her against him and kissed her, hard. He didn't know why he did it, except the desire to do so was overwhelming— to demonstrate his admiration for her courage.

He meant it to be an expression of how much he wanted to go instead of her, of how much he wanted to protect her. But as the kiss deepened, he realized Mary was becoming the center of his life.

Mary pressed closer to Connor, shifting her weight in the sleeping bag. She ignored the sharp prickle of his new beard and returned his kiss. The warm tenderness that accompanied the pressure of his mouth dispelled any of her lingering fears.

It felt wonderful to finally experience the thrill of mutual affection, so aptly described in books, so missing from her life. A fierce longing assailed her for all the joys she had missed, for potential male friends turned away, for opportunities lost.

“Don’t leave." Connor’s voice sounded deeper than normal, a hoarse whisper. “Stay."

Tempting. Mary steeled herself against it. "No. We must try for our gear now. They're tired. They should be hard to wake."

"Then wait until it gets a little more light, so we can see where to go," he urged, pulling her closer.

She wanted to stay with him more than anything. She dreaded going into the men’s tents. But Mary always did the unpleasant jobs first. If she gave in, it would be just that much harder.

She had convinced Connor she wouldn't be hurt, but she had only half-convinced herself. Actually the thought of leaving the "safety" of their tent— and him— terrified her.

Connor was her only ally. She couldn’t let him weaken her.

"We'll be able to see,” she said. “I have flashlights— and a headlamp."

"A headlamp?"

"Yes. A light on a headband, with a battery pack. It shines two hundred feet or more."

"Don't let Judd see them, or your booties."

"Okay. But I'm going to need a light in their tents."

"Take the smallest, most expendable thing you have."

"I have a key ring light attached to the outside of my pack. I'll take that." She felt him release her and wanted to cry out against it.

"Okay. But don’t try for the coats. They’ll rustle too much. Once we get away, we'll wear our sleeping bags."

His kiss had given her confidence and she unzipped her bag, sitting up. His hand lingered on her arm as if reluctant to let her go. She wondered if he did so because of the danger ahead, or because he wanted her to stay.

Not pausing to ask, she stood, pulled on her wool outer clothes and unsnapped the tiny pen light.

Judd and his men needed her to get them to the cabin. They wouldn't hurt her if she woke them. Unless she woke Ramone. Then she’d scream the snow off the trees.

Slowly lifting the tent flap, Mary stared out into the semi-darkness. Moonlight reflected from the snow and revealed the other tents, doors zipped shut, looking like the tops of two huge umbrellas.

All was quiet. No one stood guard, unless he was somewhere behind her. They probably assumed she and Connor weren't going anywhere.

Mary crawled outside. The wet crystals immediately chilled her feet and the biting coldness of the air penetrated her body. Her heart thudded madly as she stood up, then glanced around to check behind her.

No guard. At least none she could see.

Around them the mountains shone white, ghostly silhouettes against a darker sky. Overhead a myriad of stars sparkled from horizon to horizon, vibrating in the ice-chilled darkness. To the west the combined lights of Tacoma, Seattle, Bellevue and Everett lit up the atmosphere with a soft glow.

Civilization— so near and yet so far.

A serene and lovely place. Violence seemed alien. Unthinkable. Yet its threat was as real as the four men. To fight against them— unthinkable! They held the guns, plus those deadly knives.

If she got caught, would Judd kill Connor— in retribution?

Her mouth felt suddenly dry, so that her lips clung to her teeth and her tongue became swollen and awkward. She recognized the effects of fear— a fear which could rapidly immobilize her, leaving her sick and trembling.

She wanted to return to Connor, more desperately than anything she had wanted in her life, but she must face the unknown. Like a tightrope walker afraid to take that first step, she stood on one foot and found it almost impossible to put the other ahead of it.

The longer she stood, the colder she’d get, her muscles tighter and more uncooperative. It reduced her chance of success.

She had to move. Now.

Mary bit down on her lower lip, chapped and pitted from the arid cold, and listened intently. She heard no noise foreign to the quiet forest. She glanced back at her tent, hearing Connor inside, quietly packing their gear. They had to try, and she had to do her part.

The little dragon swung on its chain under her shirt. Perhaps this time they’d win.

Lord God, please hear me this time. Help me get our things. Help us escape.

Taking a quick breath of icy air, she forced her unwilling feet to move, first one, then the other, along the path the men had broken in the icy snow—a tightrope walker crossing a chasm.

“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...”

She tiptoed to the dome-shaped tent on the right, unable to keep her bare feet from scrunching softly on the packed snow.

As she knelt beside the door flap her knee popped. Mary tensed, her hand hovering above the zipper. No noise from inside.

She waited a minute, not daring to breathe, then slowly edged the little tab upward, an inch at a time. It made no sound as it moved and she relaxed just enough to gasp for air.

Peering inside, she saw two forms wrapped in their bags, feet toward her, apparently asleep. Piles of equipment and clothing surrounded them, shoved against the tent sides.

Not seeing the boots, Mary flicked on her pen light to aid her search. Her heart sank as she finally located them, heaped at the far left corner of the geodesic-shaped dome, near the heads of the sleeping men.

One of the men mumbled and she immediately extinguished the light. She wanted nothing more than to give up. But if she didn't try, Connor would. Her thoughts clung to him and to his strength. Not just his physical strength, but his resolve to act in the face of danger. She drew on that strength, hoping to make it her own.

She couldn’t walk around the sleeping men so she must walk between them, where their bags met and overlapped.

Cautiously Mary slipped inside, feeling each step before she transferred her weight onto it, doing a delicate balancing act as she progressed.

The tent wasn’t tall enough to stand upright, so she crouched, her last step going over the head of the sleeper on the left and into the pile of boots. There were just four, so either theirs weren’t here or one of the men must still be wearing his.

Reaching down she lifted one boot, then another, until she picked up one much lighter than the rest. She had found one of hers. Holding it in her left hand, she lifted each remaining boot. She couldn't find the other one. Where...?

Flicking on the pen light, she swept it over the piles of equipment several times before she realized they must have separated her boots, putting one in this tent and one in the other. They had probably done the same with Connor's. How was she going to find his?

Carefully she reached down and felt the rough treads, systematically checking for a difference. Her father had purchased his the year he died, so hadn’t worn them long.

She couldn't even remember what her father's boots looked like. Should she just carry all of them to Connor?

Bending forward, she began to gather them in her arms when she caught the scent of new leather in the boot she held. Quickly she set it down. One more sniff located her father's boot, which smelled heavily of oil and waterproofing.

She had it. Success. One of each.

Now to get out.

Cautiously, Mary balanced on her toes as she rotated slowly, changing directions.

"Gruumph!"

One of the men shifted, throwing himself into a new position, his head landing against her foot. Startled, she yanked it away, balancing on the other foot. He shifted again, then muttered something, moving away from the man sleeping next to him. Of course— his sleep-drugged mind would assume his companion had disturbed him. With renewed courage, Mary put her foot out and down, making the first step toward the door.

Her heart hammered violently, loud enough to wake them with its noise, but after muttering and shifting again, the man settled back down.

Better to move while he’s moving, she thought, and did accordingly, reaching the tent door in three more steps. She dashed quickly across the open space to Connor, handed him the boots and explained why there was only one of each.

"One more tent to go," she said.

He groaned. "I never realized waiting could be so hard. Be careful, Mary."

"Don't worry. I'm nothing but," she assured him.

More confident, she approached the next tent and slowly unzipped the door flap. These men also had their feet toward the entrance and again Mary did her pause-step. Something stiff dangled from the roof. Ira's jeans, hung up to dry. She held them aside as she moved past to the boots.

Ira's boots were still wet as the men had neglected to use waterproofing. They would be cold and uncomfortable in the morning. She found hers and Connor’s immediately.

Triumphant, she shifted her weight back to the center. It hadn't been so hard after all.

Thank you, Lord.

She smiled as she pictured herself with Connor, well on their way before these creeps even woke up. She took a step forward.

A man’s strong grip seized her ankle.