Black Hills

  anything there, and I’d be taking away what she wants. I’ve got no promises to give her. It’s not because she doesn’t matter.”

  “No, I’d say it’s because she does. That’s enough for me. You’ve had a hell of a day, haven’t you?”

  “I feel like pieces of me are coming apart. I don’t know how they’re going to go together again. She wanted to see the cougar—for us to see it together. For luck. It doesn’t feel like we have any right now. And whoever that is up there, she had it a lot worse.”

  HER NAME WAS Melinda Barrett. She’d been twenty when she’d set out to hike the Black Hills, a treat for herself for the summer. She was from Oregon. A student, a daughter, a sister. She’d wanted to be a ranger.

  Her parents had reported her missing the same day she’d been found, because she’d been two days late checking in.

  Before the cougar had gotten to her, someone had fractured her skull, then stabbed her violently enough to nick her ribs with the blade. Her pack, her watch, the compass her father had given her, the one his father had given him, weren’t found.

  Because she’d asked, Coop drove his bike to the start of the Chance farm road at dawn. Melinda Barrett’s murder had delayed his start by two days, and he couldn’t delay it longer.

  He saw her standing in the early light, the dogs milling around her, the hills at her back. He’d remember that, he thought. Remember Lil just like that until he saw her again.

  When he stopped and got off the bike, the dogs raced and leaped. Lil simply went into his arms.

  “Would you call, when you get to New York?”

  “Yes. Are you all right?”

  “It’s so much. I thought we’d have more time alone. Just alone to be. Then we found her. They don’t have any idea who did that to her, or if they do, they’re not saying. She just walked that trail, and someone killed her. For her pack? Her watch? For no reason? I can’t get it out of my mind, and we haven’t had our time.” She tipped her face up, met his lips with hers. “It’s just for a while.”

  “For a while.”

  “I know you have to go, but . . . did you eat? Do you need anything?” She tried to smile as tears drenched her throat. “Watch how I stall.”

  “I had flapjacks. Grandma knows my weakness. They gave me five thousand dollars, Lil. They wouldn’t let me say no.”

  “Good.” She kissed him again. “Good. Then I won’t worry about you starving to death in some gutter. I’ll miss you. God, I miss you already. Go. You need to go.”

  “I’ll call. I’ll miss you.”

  “Kick ass at the academy, Coop.”

  He got on the bike, took one last long look. “I’ll come back.”

  “To me,” she murmured when he gunned the engine. “Come back to me.”

  She watched until he was out of sight, until she was sure he was gone. In the soft, early light, she sat on the ground, and gathering the dogs to her, wept her heart out.

  6

  SOUTH DAKOTA

  February 2009

  The little Cessna shuddered, then gave a couple of quick, annoyed bucks as it buzzed over the hills, the plains and valleys. Lil shifted in her seat. Not from nerves—she’d been through worse air than this and come out fine. She shifted for a better view. Her Black Hills were white with February, a snow globe of rises, ridges, and flats, rib-boned by frozen streams, laced by shivering pines.

  She imagined the wind on the ground was nearly as raw and mean as it could be up here, so a good, strong inhale would be like gulping down broken glass.

  She couldn’t have been happier.

  She was nearly home.

  The last six months had been incredible, an experience she’d never forget. She’d been drenched, had sweltered, been frozen, been bitten and stung—all while studying pumas in the Andes.

  She’d earned every penny of the research grant, and hoped to earn more with the papers and articles she’d written, and would write.

  Money aside—though in her position that was a luxury she couldn’t afford—every mile she’d hiked, every bruise, every sore muscle had been worth the sight of a golden puma stalking prey in the rain forest, or perched like an idol on a cliffside.

  But now she was ready for home. Back to her own habitat.

  Work waited, and plenty of it. Six months equaled her longest field trip, and even keeping in touch when she could, she’d face mountains of work.

  The Chance Wildlife Refuge was her baby, after all.

  But before she dived in, she wanted a day, even a day to wallow in home.

  She stretched out her legs as best she could in the confines of the cabin, crossed her hiking boots at the ankles. She’d been traveling, one way or the other, for a day and a half, but this last leg washed away any travel fatigue.

  “Gonna get bumpy.”

  She glanced over at Dave, the pilot. “And it’s been smooth as a lake so far.”

  He grinned, winked. “Gonna seem like it.”

  She gave her seat belt an extra tug, but wasn’t worried. Dave had gotten her home before. “I appreciate you making the detour.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ll buy you a meal before you head up to Twin Forks.”

  “I’ll rain-check that.” He turned his Minnesota Twins fielder’s cap bill-back as he always did for luck before a landing. “I figure I’ll take off as soon as I refuel. You’ve been gone awhile this time. Must be anxious to get home.”

  “I am.”

  The wind slapped and yanked at the little plane on the descent. It rocked and kicked like a bad-tempered child in mid-tantrum. Lil grinned when she saw the runway of the municipal airport.

  “You call me when you’re back this way, Dave. My mother will fix you the prince of home-cooked meals.”

  “I’m on that.”

  She shoved her thick braid off her shoulder, peering down, her dark eyes searching. She spotted the blop of red. Her mother’s car, she thought. Had to be. She braced against the turbulence, keeping that spot of red as her focal point.

  The landing gear rumbled down, the red became a Yukon, and the plane dipped toward the runway. When the wheels touched, her heart lifted.

  The minute Dave gave her the nod, she unbuckled to grab her duffel, her pack, her laptop case. Loaded, she turned to her pilot, managed to get a hand on his beard-grizzled face, and kissed him hard on the lips.

  “Almost as good as a home-cooked meal,” he said.

  As she clanged her way down the short steps to the tarmac, Jenna rushed out of the tiny terminal. Lil dumped her gear, and met her mother on the run.

  “There you are. There you are,” Jenna murmured as they gripped each other in rib-crushers. “Welcome back, welcome home. Oh, I missed you! Let me look at you!”

  “In a minute.” Lil held on, breathed in the scents of lemon and vanilla that said Mom. “Okay.”

  She eased back, and the two women studied each other. “You look so beautiful.” Lil reached out, flicked her fingers over her mother’s hair. “I still can’t get used to it short. Sassy.”

  “You look . . . amazing. How can you look amazing after six months of tramping around the Andes? After spending nearly two days on planes, trains, and God knows what else to get home? But you look amazing, and ready for anything. Let’s get your stuff, get you out of the cold. Dave!”

  Jenna hurried toward the pilot, caught his face, as Lil had, kissed him, as Lil had. “Thanks for bringing my girl home.”

  “Best detour I ever took.”

  Lil hefted her pack, her duffel, let her mother take the laptop. “Safe skies, Dave.”

  “I’m so happy to see you.” Jenna wrapped an arm around Lil’s waist as they walked against the wind. “Your dad wanted to come, but one of the horses is sick.”

  “Bad?”

  “I don’t think so. Hope not. But he wanted to stay close, keep an eye on her. So I get you all to myself for a while.”

  Once the gear was loaded, they settled into the car. The hybrid her
green-minded parents used was neat as a parlor, and roomier than the Cessna’s cabin. Lil stretched out her legs, let out a long sigh. “I’m dreaming of an endless bubble bath, with a bottomless glass of wine. Then the biggest damn steak this side of the Missouri.”

  “We happen to have all those in stock.”

  To cut the glare from the snowpack, Lil dug out her sunglasses. “I want to stay at the house tonight, catch up with you guys before I go to the cabin, get back to work.”

  “I’d kick your butt if you planned to do anything else.”

  “Yay. Tell me everything,” Lil insisted as they drove out of the lot. “How is everybody, what’s been going on, who’s ahead in the Joe v. Farley Never-Ending Chess Tournament? Who’s fighting, who’s having sex? Note I’m trying not to ask specifically about the refuge, because once I get started I won’t be able to stop.”

  “Then I’ll just say everything’s fine in the area you’re not asking about. I want to hear all about your adventures. The journal entries you e-mailed were so rich, so interesting. You need to write that book, honey.”

  “One of these days. I have enough already put together for a couple more solid articles. Got some great photos, more than I sent you guys. I looked out of my tent one morning, not fully awake, really, just glanced out, and I saw a puma up in a tree, maybe twenty yards away. Just sitting up there, studying the camp, like she was thinking, What the hell do they think they’re doing here?

  “There were mists rising, and the birds had just started to chatter. Everyone else was asleep. It was just the two of us. She took my breath, Mom. I didn’t get a picture. I had to force myself to ease back and get my camera. It only took seconds, but when I looked back out, she was gone. Like smoke. But I’ll never forget how she looked.”

  Lil laughed and shook her head. “See, you got me started. I want to hear about here. About home.” She flipped open her old sheepskin jacket as the car’s heater pumped out blissful warmth. “Oh, look at the snow. You’ve all been hammered. Two days ago I was sweltering in Peru. Tell me something new.”

  “I didn’t tell you when you were gone. Didn’t want to worry you. Sam fell and broke his leg.”

  “Oh, God.” Instantly the pleasure on her face, in her heart, dissolved. “When? How bad?”

  “About four months ago. His horse shied, reared—we’re not quite sure—but he fell, and the horse tromped on his leg. Broke it in two places. He was alone, Lil. The horse headed back without him, and that’s what alerted Lucy.”

  “Is he all right? Mom—”

  “He’s doing better. We were all scared for a while there. He’s fit, but he’s seventy-six, and they were bad breaks. They put pins in, and he was in the hospital for over a week, then in a cast, and then therapy. He’s just starting to get around again, with a cane. If he wasn’t so tough . . . The doctors say he’s remarkable, and he’ll do fine. But it’s slowed him down, no question.”

  “What about Lucy? Is she doing all right? The farm, the business? If Sam’s been laid up all this time, have they got enough help?”

  “Yes. It was a little rough at first, but yes, they’re doing okay.” Jenna took a quick breath, which told Lil more tough news was coming. “Lil, Cooper’s back.”

  It was a sucker punch to the heart. Just reflex, she told herself. Just old memories taking a cheap shot. “Good, that’s good. He’d be a lot of help. How long is he staying?”

  “He’s back, Lil.” Jenna reached over to rub her hand on her daughter’s thigh. Both the tone and the touch were gentle. “He’s living at the farm now.”

  “Well, sure.” Something inside her jittered, but she ignored it. “Where else would he stay while he’s helping them out?”

  “He came out as soon as Lucy called him, stayed a few days, stayed until we were all sure Sam wasn’t going to need more surgery. Then he went back east, settled whatever he had to settle, and came back. He’s staying.”

  “But . . . He has his business in New York.” That something inside squeezed her sternum now, making it hard to breathe. “I mean, after he quit the police force and went private, he . . . I thought he was doing okay there.”

  “I think he was. But . . . Lucy told me he sold the agency, packed up, and told her he’d be staying. And he has. I’m not sure what they’d have done without him, truth be told. Everyone would’ve pitched in to help, you know how it is. But there’s nothing like family. I didn’t want to tell you about it on the phone, or by e-mail. Baby, I know it might be hard for you.”

  “No. Of course not.” Once her heart stopped aching, once she could take a deep breath without pain, she’d be fine. “That was a long time ago. We’re still friendly. I saw him, what, three or four years ago, when he came out to visit Sam and Lucy.”

  “You saw him for less than an hour, before you suddenly had to go to Florida, for the full two weeks he was here.”

  “I did have to go, or the opportunity came up. Florida panthers are endangered.” She stared out the window, grateful for the sunglasses. Even with them everything seemed too bright, too much. “I’m fine about Coop. I’m glad he’s here for Sam and Lucy.”

  “You loved him.”

  “Yes, I did. Past tense. Don’t worry.”

  It wasn’t as if she’d run into him every five minutes, see him everywhere. She had her work, her place. He, apparently, had his. Plus, no hard feelings, she reminded herself. They’d been children; they’d grown up.

  She ordered herself to put it away, all away, when her mother turned onto the farm road. She could see smoke puffing out of the chimney—a homey welcome—and a pair of dogs racing from the back to see what was up.

  She had a quick and poignant memory of weeping into the comfort of another pair of dogs on a hot summer morning. Twelve years ago this summer for that first miserable goodbye, she reminded herself. And really, if she was honest, that had been the end. Twelve years was long enough, plenty long enough, to get over it.

  She saw her father coming from the barn to greet them, and pushed all thoughts of Cooper Sullivan away.

  SHE WAS HUGGED, kissed, plied with hot chocolate and cookies, slobbered on by the pair of hounds her parents had named Lois and Clark. Out the kitchen window the familiar view spread. The fields, the hills, the pines, the bright wink of the stream. Jenna insisted on washing the clothes stuffed in the duffel.

  “I’d like to. Makes me feel like Mommy for the day.”

  “Far be it from me to deprive you, Mommy.”

  “I’m not a fussy woman,” Jenna observed as she took the load Lil gave her. “But I don’t know how you can get by with so little for so long.”

  “Planning, and the willingness to wear dirty socks when choices are limited. That’s actually still clean,” Lil began when her mother pulled another shirt out of the duffel. Jenna only lifted her eyebrows. “Okay, not so much clean as not filthy.”

  “I’ll bring you a sweater, some jeans. That’ll hold you until these are clean and dry. Take your bath, drink your wine. Relax.”

  She sank into the tub her mother had drawn. It was, Lil thought with a long, nearly orgasmic groan, nice to have someone fuss over her a little. Working in the field usually meant living rough, and in some cases close to primitive. She didn’t mind it. But she sure as hell didn’t mind having her mom draw her the Jenna Chance special bubble bath, and knowing she could indulge in it until the water went cold.

  Now that she was alone, now that there was plenty of time, she let Coop back into her head.

  He’d come back when his grandparents needed him—she had to give him credit for that. The fact was, no one could question his love or loyalty in that direction.

  How could she hate the man, one who had, apparently, changed his life to see that his grandparents’ home and their business were protected?

  Besides, she had nothing to hate him for.

  Just because he’d broken her heart, then squeezed the still dripping juices of it onto the ground so they had clung to his boot