Yellowstone Romance Series - Bundle (# 2-5) (2 page)

 Chapter 2

Chase Russell groaned.  The pounding in his head increased when he tried to lift it off the hard ground. He squinted his eyes into the bright sun overhead, then closed them again, fighting off the dizziness. The loud roar of the nearby waterfall drowned out all other sound.  A shadow, then a sudden unexpected gush of hot air on his cheek made him flinch. It happened again, and this time it was accompanied by the sensation of sandpaper scraping across his face.

Chase forced his eyes open, and hauled himself off the ground. He stumbled over the slippery rocks and landed several feet in the frigid river.  A cold wave slammed into him like a lineman’s tackle, and threatened to push him further into the rushing current. He gasped in surprise and shock. Quickly, he scrambled on hands and feet over the jagged rocks, back to the safety of dry land. The icy water jolted him fully awake. A couple more feet, and the tremendous current of the river would have swept him away.

A creature with pointy horns and tan-colored fur that hung in thick tufts off its shoulders and back stood where he lay moments ago. Dripping wet and shaking from the cold, he hauled himself off the ground, keeping a wary eye on the . . . what was that? Hell if he knew one animal from another. It wasn’t a bison, he was sure of that. He’d already seen plenty of those. Luckily, it wasn’t a bear. It looked more like a goat on steroids. It didn’t look intimidating anymore, now that he was a safe distance away, out from underneath its coarse tongue. He remembered seeing goats at the fair one year when he was little. His mother had encouraged him to enter the goat-milking contest, but he’d scoffed at her. Touch one of those things? Hell no. The closest he let himself come to animal skin was the pigskin covering of a football.

The creature stared back at him, its mouth moving in a rhythmic, circular motion. It appeared to gloat at him.

“Shoo! Get out of here!” He waved his hands in the air and took a step towards the stupid thing.  Alarmed, the walking cheese factory jumped away, and gracefully sprang up the steep incline of yellow and red colored rocks about twenty yards away from the river.

His gaze followed the effortless movements of the animal, as it sprang up the sides of the canyon. Shit. It was going to be a long haul back up. The top was barely visible, some nine hundred feet from where he stood.  His feet were still blistered from the hike down. Damn those guys anyways! Why the hell did he go along with their idiotic schemes? Just to prove he wasn’t some namsy pamsy city boy? They all wanted to be here, had volunteered for this. He didn’t have a choice. He was here to keep his nose clean, not get in more trouble. But trouble always had a way of finding him. At least it had the last four years.

It hadn’t been his idea to come to Montana to do the community service portion of his drug conviction. He’d finished rehab. Montana was his mother’s suggestion. Her sister’s husband had connections in Yellowstone, and he’d pulled some strings with the Department of Corrections. Now he was stuck here for the summer, part of the trail maintenance crew that cleared the popular hiking trails of downed trees, controlled erosion, and other crap. It was hard physical work, but it beat picking up trash along an L.A. freeway. At least he’d stay in shape, since there was no workout gym close by.

A quick glance in all directions told him he was alone. Where the hell had they all gone? His sleeping bag wasn’t where he’d laid it out the night before, either. Those assholes took everything, and left him. There’d be hell to pay when he got out of this canyon and back to the barracks. He only hoped his crew leader didn’t catch wind of where he’d been. No doubt he’d be arrested again. Hiking in the canyon was illegal. He knew that. That had been made clear during the pep talk they all received when they started the season. Just as hot-potting – swimming in the thermal features - was illegal, but they’d done that, too. He remembered Todd suggesting they sneak out one night and piss into Old Faithful’s cone. But no one had been brave enough to try that. Not yet, anyways.

He pulled his soaked t-shirt over his head and gave it a hard twist to wring the water out. How long had he been passed out? Judging by the sun directly overhead, it was noon or a little later. At least he’d dry faster. The last thing he remembered from the night before was stumbling from his sleeping bag to the river to hurl his stomach contents. Not enough food and too much alcohol had been to blame for that.  Apparently he never made it back to his sleeping bag, and passed out right here. Good thing he hadn’t rolled sideways, or he’d have gone for his first and only wild plume ride. Watching the water rush past, even he knew that this was one whitewater trip no one would survive.

A renewed wave of bile threatened to rise from his stomach. He smacked his dried lips together, and realized how parched and swollen his tongue and throat were. He didn’t have enough spit in his mouth to even swallow. He glanced at the river.
Why the hell not
.  He shrugged. It was the only water available. He dropped to his knees on the rocky bank and stuck his head in the water. The icy liquid felt good going down his throat. He hoped he didn’t catch giardia or something. Oh well, he’d know soon enough. There was medication for that.

Chase pulled himself to a standing position again. He picked his shirt up off the ground and tied it, turban style, around his head. He looked up the jagged face of the canyon again, then squared his shoulders.
No pain, no gain
. He could hear his football coach yelling in his ear, driving him to greater effort.

His stomach grumbled and churned, but he ignored it, and picked his way up the yellow rocks. Once he’d reach the top, it was just a short walk to the parking lot, not that he expected his newfound so-called friends to be waiting for him. He’d most likely have to walk a couple miles back to the Canyon Village barracks, but at least the road was paved and flat, and maybe some tourist would take pity on his soul, and give him a lift.

He cursed Todd, Jimmy, Phil, and all the other guys with every step he took. His knuckles scraped against the jagged brittle rocks, his bare knees scuffed and bleeding. The blisters on his heels burned like hell whenever they rubbed against his barely-broken in hiking boots. Gritting his teeth, he pushed on, taking advantage of every knarled tree root that jutted out of the rocks to pull himself upward. It hadn’t been this hard climbing down into the canyon, and it sure as hell didn’t seem as long. But the same drive that had earned him All Star Quarterback his senior year in high school pushed him forward now.  Too bad that intense desire to be the best hadn’t carried over to college.

Riding on a full football scholarship, he’d started partying more and more, and eventually pledged a fraternity. From there, the all night drinking escalated to drug use. His grades and game had suffered, and he was kicked off the team his junior year. The arrest for possession followed, and now he was here.

With a quick glance up, Chase fingered the dog tags that dangled from a chain around his neck. They were the only things his loser father had ever given him. Why he wore them, he didn’t know. Hell, if he had any sense, he’d toss them down the canyon right now. His thumb rubbed the tags out of habit, then he let go and reached for the next rock jutting out of the canyon wall above him.  With one final pull and grunt, he hauled himself over the edge and collapsed to the ground, emitting a long sigh of relief. Endless pull-ups in the gym had finally paid off.

Man up, Russell. Just a few more miles, and you can get some chow. Right before you knock the shit out of Todd and the rest of those idiots.
His fists bunched at his sides at the thought. With an impatient swipe of his hands, he brushed away the gravel that stuck to his sweat-soaked chest and abdomen. A mosquito landed on his leg, and he slapped it away, hitting his knee in the process. He hissed and inhaled sharply. His knees looked like freshly ground beef. Cursing, he plucked some pebbles from the open sores. It had been a hot day yesterday, and he’d worn cargo shorts instead of long pants. Hindsight wasn’t helping him now.

He glanced down into the canyon one final time, then turned. The gravel path that led to the parking lot should be just beyond that line of trees. They seemed denser than he remembered from yesterday. He pushed and weaved his way through the trees.  His shirt caught in one of the lower branches and was yanked off his head.  His forward momentum jerked his neck back.

“Shit.”  He wrestled his shirt out of the branch’s grasp, and pulled it on over his head. He cringed when the fabric scraped the skin on his back. Damn, he hadn’t realized he’d gotten sunburned. The tingle of his skin became more intense with each passing minute, exacerbated by his movements. The soft cotton shirt felt like sandpaper across his tender flesh.

“I’m going to kill you, Todd,” he ground out between clenched teeth, and shoved his way between more trees. Where the hell was that path? He should have reached it by now. The hiking path led parallel along the canyon rim. There was no way he could have missed it.  The further he walked, the darker the forest closed in around him, the sun obscured by towering lodgepole pines. The air chilled, replacing the heat from the shadeless canyon. His boots squished loudly in his efforts to trample through the moist and soggy ground.

Water trickled nearby and Chase followed the rippling sounds. He dropped to his knees at the edge of a shallow creek that snaked through the underbrush. Giardia be damned. He cupped his hands in the cool water, and splashed it on his face and neck. He refilled his hands repeatedly, gulping the water as fast as he could. With his hands on his thighs, he inhaled sharply and tilted his head back to stare beyond the canopy of the trees.

Where the hell am I? I couldn’t have missed the path.
Was it his imagination, or had the blue patches of sky that peered through the trees turned an ominous dark gray? It happened so fast, it was as if someone had turned out the lights around him. Before the thought had barely formed in his mind, he heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. This day couldn’t get any worse, could it?

Rain pelted him without mercy. Ferocious wind forced the lodgepoles to swing and bend ominously in its wake.
One downed tree on your head, and it’s all over, Russell.
  He wrapped his arms tightly around his middle, and trudged on through the forest. He kept his head bent into his chest, and only glanced up every so often in hopes of spotting the parking lot. He had no idea how long he walked, but the rain and wind were relentless.

Darkness swallowed up the trees in front of him, and Chase’s body shook violently. He could barely move. His boot caught on something, a tree root maybe? He stumbled forward and yanked his foot free of the protruding obstacle. Before he could catch his balance, he fell to the soggy ground. He spit the mud out of his mouth and wiped at his eyes.
You need to find shelter, man. No, just a little further. The parking lot is just a little further.
He tried to stand, but the world around him tilted, and he sagged back to the ground. Crawling on hands and knees, he forced himself forward.
His body refused to listen to his brain. The muscles wouldn’t obey.

I have to get to the parking lot. Find shelter. No, everything will be okay once I get to the parking lot.

He couldn’t feel the ground beneath him anymore. Couldn’t tell if he was crawling on rocks or soft earth. Was he still in the forest? He willed his head to move so he could look up, but the darkness hindered his vision. 
Shit. I’m going to . . . kill . . . those guys. Right after I rest here for a minute . . . so tired.

Voices! He definitely heard voices. His body no longer felt cold. He wasn’t shivering anymore. He was so damn tired, he couldn’t move. Someone was hauling him off the ground. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt like one ton anchors. He caught a quick glimpse of movement, but it was blurry. He tried to blink, tried to open his eyes, but it was no use. He was floating through the air. Something slammed into his gut and his breath rushed from his lungs. His world tilted upside down.

His head floated freely, swinging from side to side. He had lost all control over his body. He forced his eyes open again. The ground moved underneath him. It was like looking at the road while riding a bike. Only, instead of smooth pavement, dirt and rocks and tufts of grass moved beneath him at surreal speeds. The ride jolted and churned him like a puppet without a master. 

 Soft melodious sounds of a woman’s voice mingled with deeper voices penetrated his mind. They sounded far away. Someone hurled his body through the air and whatever had pressed so hard into his gut was gone. His back made contact with hard ground, and all nerve endings caught on fire. He willed his eyelids open one more time. Through the haze and fuzziness, the vision of a dark-haired angel stared back at him. Chase drowned in the pools of her deep blue eyes.