High Desert Barbecue (24 page)

J
ason pointed at Ray.

“
Oh. Yeah.”

M
oments later, after a few tugs and nudges from Jason—and one longing backwards look by Rena—the teammates scattered into the darkening brush to seek individual refuges for the night. Or, if they preferred, they sought a refuge suitable for two.

W
hich is what Jason and Samantha did, a few hundred yards up the canyon, back the way they’d come.

“
Wow,” Samantha said. She brushed Jason’s cheek with her hand. “Even when things are tough, you really take charge.”

“
Thanks.” Jason took a tentative half step closer to Samantha, gazing past her dirt-encrusted cheekbones into her moist, welcoming eyes. “I take my responsibilities seriously …
very
seriously.”

S
he pressed closer to him, and now he felt her nipples tracing little circles through the film of salt, sweat and dust on his chest. The days on the trail with little water and plenty of sweat had taken their toll on her hygiene, creating an almost palpable wall of funk around her—a moat of BO. Now he was inside that wall with her—and she was inside his matching perimeter of stink.

“
I never thought I could feel this way about a mammal,” she babbled. “And people are just mammals, right?” She broke eye contact with him. “But you’re better than just another nasty animal. You’re like … like … a mighty oak towering above the forest.”

S
lowly, Jason brought his hands forward and gently rested them on her hips. He raised his right hand to her chin and tilted her head up. Her gaze met his once again.

“
And you, you’re like a wild doe running free through the forest. You’re
my
doe—I hope.”

“
From you—
only
from
you—
that’s so wonderful. Yes, I’m your doe.”

A
n instant later they were locked in a clinch, lips pressed together. An instant after that, they fell to the ground with a soft thump, which was rapidly punctuated by suppressed yelps as exposed flesh encountered sharp thorns.

S
amantha sat up, holding twin branches by the side of her head like a pair of antlers. The two giggled and lurched together again in an embrace.

Y
ards away, standing half-concealed in the brush, Terry gaped in open astonishment. His jaw opened and closed as if he were trying to speak. Finally, it snapped shut and he turned his head from the scene that had occupied his attention.

H
e moved quietly up the canyon to find a relatively soft and secluded place to sleep. Through the long hours of the night, Terry would be kept company by very confused thoughts. People, plants, animals, people, plants, animals …

R
ena also moved through the night, though with considerably less confusion than her teammate. Stepping quickly from rock to rock and bush to bush, she rapidly outpaced Bob in their hike up the canyon. Looking carefully around her, she began angling across the canyon, and then cut back down, heading back the way she’d come. She passed within scant yards of Terry who, pacing slowly and staring at his feet, continued on his way none the wiser. Rena spared a quick smile for Jason and Samantha wrestling on a mat of reasonably soft vegetation, and then moved on toward her destination.

R
ay looked up as she entered the clearing where he lay, near where he was shot. He looked up and groaned.

“
Checking on me already?”

R
ena pressed a finger to her lips.

“
Ssshh. Sort of.”

R
ay squinted through the half-light.

“
What?” he whispered hoarsely.

R
ena dropped to her knees next to the wounded man.

“
How’s your wound?”

“
Same as half an hour ago. It hurts like a son of a bitch.”

“
Ray, I think we both know what’s going on here.”

T
he man raised his eyebrows.

“
There’s a real connection between us. I felt it during our group discussion of sexuality when you emphasized the sexuality of
people
.”

R
ay managed to blush through his sunburn.

“
What?”

“
Ssshh.” She touched her finger to his lips. “I really felt it while I was healing you.”

“
You gotta be—”

“
Ssshh.”

“
It was developing between us before, but there’s something magical about the healing process. It’s built a strong spiritual bond between us.”

S
he dropped her hands to her waist and shimmied out of her shorts. Ray’s eyes widened as her enormous breasts bounced from side to side.

“
Hey, not to be ungrateful, but I’m injured. I’m really not up-“

“
Ssshh.

R
ena patted the man’s groin. He instinctively tried to cross his legs, then winced and grunted.

“
Yeah, you’re hurting. That’ll have to wait.”

R
ay nodded vigorously.

R
ena patted him again.

“
That’s OK. I have something else in mind.”

W
ith a quick move, she straddled his chest.

R
ay’s jaw dropped.

S
he moved forward, over his face, before he could speak.

“
That’s better.”

“
Mmmmf.”

Chapter 55

A
t the mouth of Sycamore Canyon, just yards from the Parson’s Spring trailhead, Carrie Olsen buttered a slice of bread for an evening snack and wondered if it was too late to get out of her planned hike with Carl. The recent Wisconsin transplant stared off toward the darkening canyon, torn between the thrill she got from exploring the exotic Southwest desert, and the dark expectation that, somewhere along the trail, she was going to have to poke her backpacking companion in the groin with a sharp object.

A
dding to her discomfort was the weird incident on the road leading to the trailhead. She and her companion had come across what looked like an escapee from a horror movie. If she’d been driving, she would have turned around and gone home, but she’d surrendered driving duties to her companion for the trip up from Phoenix to the secluded canyon, and he’d simply accelerated past the bizarre spectacle.

T
he little Subaru rocked behind her, jarring the tailgate that served as her seat. Caught off-guard, Carrie lost her grip on her butter knife, which skittered off into the dirt. She retained her slice of bread only by clutching it to her t-shirt sticky-side in. Sighing, Carrie peeled her snack away from her clothing, briefly considered—and rejected—eating it anyway, and turned to face the source of the disturbance.

T
hat source sat grinning and scratching his head in the open back of the car. His lower half was encased in a sleeping bag, which rested next to Carrie’s own empty bag. His upper half was encased in nothing, which helped to explain why Carrie’s sleeping bag was empty, and why she nursed doubts about their planned hike into Sycamore Canyon.

“
Oh. I thought you were asleep, Carl.”

C
arl ostentatiously stretched himself, flexing impressively toned muscles rippling under a rich, mocha complexion. He smiled contentedly—and then broke out in a grin when he spotted Carrie’s soiled shirt.

“
Mmmm. Hot-buttered midwestern girl. My favorite.”

C
arrie blushed a deep red and broke eye contact.

“
Cool your jets, Carl.”

“
Hey, did I do that? I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was making such a commotion. Here, let me help.” He leaned forward, exposing even more muscles and skin to view.

“
No!” she yelled. Then, more calmly, “That’s all right. I have it.”

C
arl grinned again.

“
I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“
Yeah. Hey, if you’re not going to sleep yet, why don’t you put some clothes on and help me—
Wait!
Let me give you some privacy first.”

C
arrie hopped from the tailgate and strolled away, eyes carefully turned away from Carl’s unclad body and hands outstretched for something that could cleanse her buttered shirt and hands. She debated pressing the local vegetation into dishrag service, and then settled for scrubbing her hands in the dirt and wiping down her shirt with a handful of the same. It might not clean anything, but at least her hands didn’t feel so sticky.

O
n this weekday evening, the dead end of the road that served as a trailhead parking area was empty except for Carrie’s vehicle. Carl had no regular work schedule, and she’d traded precious vacation days for privacy on the trail. So there was nothing but the fading light to obstruct her view when a suspiciously familiar figure rounded a bend in the road.

“
Carl!”

“
Hang on a sec, Miss Buttery Goodness.”

“
Carl, this is important.”

H
e came up beside her, tucking a much-laundered safari-style shirt into his shorts.

“
What’s up?”

“
That guy—”

“
Oh shit! Did he walk all this way? I don’t see how he did it.”

T
hey watched together as the horror-movie escapee from earlier in the day stumbled into view, closing the distance in slow motion, shambling through the growing dark. The club he’d been waving on the road was missing, seemingly traded for a branch tucked under one arm as a crutch.

“
Why don’t you get back to the car?” Carl suggested.

C
arrie retreated a few feet, but only to grab a trekking pole that rested against the vehicle, exiled along with the rest of their gear to make room in the back to sleep. She returned to Carl’s side brandishing the pole, its sharp metal tip pointed vaguely toward the approaching figure.

“
Hey, buddy. Can we help you?”

T
he scary man—which is how Carrie now considered him—stopped in front of them. He was filthy and soaked with sweat. She could smell him from ten feet away.

“
You’re the people who passed me on the road.”

“
Yeah …,” Carrie said. “We didn’t know you needed any help.”

“
I was bleeding and yelling for you to stop.”

“
You looked like a maniac,” Carl offered. “You still do.”

“
Bastards.”

C
arrie bristled and raised the trekking pole.

“
I’m sorry—”

“
I’m an officer of the law, goddamnit! You do
not
ignore an officer of the law!”

C
arrie peered closely, looking past the blood, dust and assorted bumps and bruises.

“
Is that a ranger uniform?”

C
arl chimed in.

“
Is that
your
ranger uniform?”

T
he scary man waved his crutch, quickly becoming even scarier.

“
Whose uniform do you think it is?”

W
ith his free hand, he slapped at the insignia on his shirt.

“
I’m with the Park Service.”