What We Find

  She walked into the storeroom where Cal was stacking boxes containing food and supply items on one side of the room and leaving some shelves empty to give their postal items more space.

  “Sully said you were here at six thirty this morning,” she said.

  He turned toward her with a very large smile. His eyes were a little sleepy. Sexy and satisfied. He took her coffee cup out of her hand, placed it on the shelf and pulled her closer. “And I think your complexion has cleared up,” she added.

  He kissed her. Long and lovingly. Yes, this guy was a little gift. She would try not to fantasize spending every night of her life getting trimmed up like she had last night.

  “I have to rent a cabin,” he said when he released her.

  “Oh? And why is that? I thought you liked the tent.”

  “I think we weakened the struts that hold up the sides last night. And I want to stretch out a little bit.”

  “How soon will you be checking in, sir?”

  “By this afternoon,” he said. “They have a bathroom, shower, etc., right?”

  “They do. But we’re coming into our busy season, so I don’t think a free cabin is in your future, even though I have a feeling I’d somehow benefit.”

  His lips quirked in a superior smile. “I’m capable of paying my way. Didn’t I explain that?”

  “I wasn’t sure whether to believe you,” she explained.

  He cocked his head. “I don’t think you got enough sleep. You could thank me for melting your bones last night but never mind, let me play the gentleman. I’ll thank you. I see your talent extends far beyond the operating room. You are a riot in bed. Thank you. I’ve never felt better.” He laughed. “God, you’re blushing.”

  “I think it’s whisker burn,” she said.

  “Even better,” he said, laughing. “Now, can you get me a cabin or do I have to go through the boss?”

  “Oh, please don’t,” she begged. “Bad enough that he heard me stumble to my room at three thirty.”

  “I need some time off after I finish in the storeroom and stocking shelves. I have a few errands. But since I’m going to town, want me to cook for you and Sully tonight? I’d like to.”

  “That would be very neighborly. Would you like to borrow a kitchen?”

  “Nah, I’ll make do. But tell me about these hikers?”

  “On their way, it seems. When the parcels start coming we know they’re marching up the divide. They don’t like to hit the Colorado border before the first of May but they start sending stuff before they begin.”

  “Are there big groups of them?”

  She shook her head. “Very rarely. There might be a couple or few together, but mostly individuals. Sometimes they meet along the way and begin to watch for each other.”

  “How many?” he asked.

  “How many hikers? Hundreds, but they’re not all long-distance hikers. The number that will spend six months on the CDT are relatively few, but they all plot their own course. They might hike for a few days or a few weeks or maybe just through Colorado. Some get on the CDT on the Mexican border and head north, some hit the trail as far away as Banff to head south and there’s every possibility in between. All through summer you’ll see them. They get off the trail at different points—we have about five foot-and cattle paths and a north-south road all converging here. They usually get off the trail just five miles north or south and march up the road. Every once in a while some crazy fool comes down that footpath behind the house from the Hallelujah Trail straight down from the Rockies.”

  “Hallelujah?” he asked.

  “It’s a demanding trip around and down the peaks. It used to be called Dead Man’s Trail but that was bad for business.” Then she smiled. “Rock climbers love that area.”

  “I bet people get in trouble out there,” he said.

  “For the most part it’s inexperienced people, people who haven’t prepared, who run into trouble. But there’s always the random accident or illness. It’s very isolated. Sometimes they sit for a long time until another hiker can get word to first responders—rangers or fire and rescue. Occasionally, someone gets lost and search and rescue goes out. There’s a lot of federal land out here, fire stations, forest service, public land that’s remote. Then there’s wildfires, avalanches, floods. And the odd wildlife issues.”

  “I’m going to have to get out there pretty soon,” he said. “As soon as I’m sure I’ll be warm.”

  “You’ve said that all along,” she said. “I’m going to hate that day. For obvious reasons.”

  He grinned his wicked grin. “That’s very flattering, Maggie. That day is not coming too soon. Also for obvious reasons,” he added.

  “It would be kind of you to at least let me get tired of you.”

  “But, Maggie. What if you never do?”

  She just sighed. The one thing you always secretly hope for can become your biggest fear.

  “Any special requests for dinner?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Something very lean, please. Sully’s eating a pastry.”

  * * *

  Maggie’s cell phone, left at the house, was beeping with a message. Her primary attorney, Steve Rubin, asked that she call him.

  Her heart beat a little faster as she prayed. Please let it be news that the lawsuit is dropped!

  “How are you doing, Maggie? How’s your dad?”

  “He’s good, Steve. What’s up?”

  “Well, it looks like we’re going to trial. It should be in about a month. Maybe two.”

  “Crap,” she said. “Crap, crap, crap!”

  “I don’t see this as terrible news. In fact, it will look better for you if you win this one rather than settling. I know it’s a little traumatic but our case is looking strong. Are you still at your dad’s?”

  “I am. I think he could manage without me now if you think it would appear better if I went back to work...”

  “Maggie, it makes no difference. The closing of your practice has no bearing on this case. And if your father is recovering from a heart attack and you’re the only relative, you have a perfectly good reason to be on leave. Unless you’re bored out of your wits or he’s driving you nuts... If you’re comfortable there, relax and try to enjoy the time off. However, you have to feel good about yourself and if working helps that, by all means, go back to work. I don’t consider it risky and neither do the many colleagues who have asked you to fill in for them.”

  “They haven’t been emailing or calling, begging me to come back...”

  “I know the kind of blow this is to your confidence, but I’m sure your colleagues are leaving you alone to rest and tend to family matters. With any luck we’ll have this behind us at about the same time you feel comfortable leaving your dad. Just do what keeps you sane for right now.”

  “I’m not entirely sure I know what that is,” she said. But she was thinking she could stand a couple more weeks near Cal.

  “One day at a time, Maggie,” he said. “I’m going to need some of your time as we get ready for a trial. I’ll need pretrial conferences, I’m sure the plaintiffs will want to depose you, and I’ll want to prep you before the trial begins. Call me in a few days and let me know if there are any changes in your work status.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Listen, it’s not like this brought me to my knees, Steve. It’s a combination of things, really. Mostly my dad, but—”

  “Maggie, go a little easier on yourself. This kind of thing brings everyone to their knees, even those big badass surgeons who didn’t have a single additional stressor in their lives. Believe me, I know. I’ve worked with a great many of them.”

  She sighed. “My dad says I have high expectations of myself,” she said, when in fact it was she who carried those expectations.

  “Yes,
I know. Uncomfortable, I know. And that’s exactly what it takes to make a good surgeon. We’ll talk soon.”

  She sat at her dad’s kitchen table for a half hour. When she went back to the store, she didn’t mention the call to anyone.

  * * *

  Cal settled into his cabin, the farthest one from the house, and Maggie was with him after their usual fire, then sneaked into her own bed in the middle of the night. The next night she got to bed a little earlier, but one of these days soon she was going to steal a whole night with Cal and not even blush about it.

  Cal’s truck and compact pop-up trailer sat behind the cabin he “rented” for which Sully would not take money. Since the days were a bit longer, the store was staying open a little later. Come summer, their hours would be sunup to sundown.

  On Wednesday, Tom Canaday came to the grounds early to help with cleanup, grounds keeping, grass and shrub trimming and trash hauling. Cal spent most of the day helping with that while Maggie put in her time at the store, restocking and cleaning. Sully was back and forth between the store and the grounds, giving advice, trying his damnedest not to tote and lift, getting grumpier by the hour. With warmer weather, the crossing was expecting a surge starting the next day, Thursday afternoon, and extending for ten days. They were getting ready. Even Frank was smart enough to be scarce on Wednesdays, knowing he could be put to work.

  Yard work done, Enid gone home to her husband and Tom to his kids, Cal grilled fish fillets and an aluminum foil packet full of green veggies and the three of them ate at a table on the porch so they could mind the store if any of the few campers who were still around needed something. When dinner was finished Cal went off to his cabin to shower while Sully headed for the house with Beau to catch a little of the news on TV.

  Maggie stayed at the store until closing, which she’d do as soon as cleanup was complete. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the lake, when Maggie was on the front porch wiping off the tables. An old, mud-splattered, rusty black pickup was parked down the road near the lake. It looked like three people sat in the cab. She leaned on her rag on the table and peered in its direction—two men flanking a small blonde woman. Not campers. Not locals—she hadn’t seen the truck before. Two big men and a small woman made shivers go up her spine.

  The truck began to slowly inch toward the store and when it neared she saw the two men were scruffy-looking strangers to her but between them, wearing a frightened expression, sat Chelsea Smyth. Where was her family? Had they sent her to get help for some reason? The driver parked at the side of the store and Maggie tried to concentrate on her wiping up. She wouldn’t give away her concern in case something was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

  The men talked for a moment and then the passenger got out of the truck. All she knew for sure was that the men looked creepy and Chelsea looked scared.

  The man who approached the front porch was dirty and unkempt, not a strange look around a campground. Locally there were fishermen, hunters, ranchers—also frequently messy and disheveled. His pants were baggy and dirty, his boots had seen better days and his beard was scraggly, but it was the look in his dark eyes and the rather large hunting knife holstered in leather at his belt that cautioned her. So she smiled.

  “How you doin’?” she asked with a friendly smile. How long is Cal’s damn shower going to take?

  “Yeah, you got beer?”

  She nodded. “Draft or six-pack?” She glanced at the truck out of the corner of her eye and the fact that Chelsea hadn’t moved over near the passenger door once the first man got out told Maggie all she needed to know.

  “Six’ll do.”

  “Right in the cooler,” she said, standing back so he could enter the store.

  He was waiting right inside the door. He looked at her over his shoulder.

  “Over there,” she said, pointing.

  He smelled, but not of ranching or fishing. He smelled of body odor, greasy food, gasoline and smoke, not wood smoke but probably tobacco smoke. And the way he looked at her, it was the most threatened she’d felt in a long time. They’d had a patient go postal in the ER once and that had scared her enough to pee her pants but security got him under control quickly.

  There was no security team here.

  She went behind the counter by the cash register, wondering if he was going to rob her and cut her up into little pieces. The broom was within her reach if he got too close or pulled out that knife. But he put the six-pack on the counter and took out a wallet he kept on a chain. Then he looked over at the bar. “Get me one a them bottles,” he commanded. “Whiskey.”

  “We don’t sell...” She stopped herself. What was she thinking? “We don’t usually sell by the bottle, but you’re probably my last customer for the day. I’m closing up in ten.” She went across the aisle to grab a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from under the bar and took it back to the cash register. She had a thought. It might be a stupid thought but Maggie usually assessed and made decisions quickly and it was the only thought she had. She knew he was wrong and she didn’t want him wandering back into the vast wilderness and doing harm to Chelsea. She began ringing up the purchase. “You passing through?”

  “More or less,” he said.

  “I got two empty cabins if you want it to be less,” she said. “Fact is, middle of the week hardly anyone’s around so we lower the price if it’s one night. Twelve dollars. I can’t do that for more than one night. Can’t do that on weekends, you know—we stay full on weekends. In good weather.”

  Stop chattering, she told herself. Her knees felt liquid. If Cal would just walk through the back door, maybe she’d come up with a better idea.

  “You can park around the back of the cabin, if you want it.”

  He looked at her suspiciously. It looked like he was onto her. He turned from the counter as if to leave but instead he brought back an armload of snack food—chips, pretzels, jerky, nuts. He piled it all on the counter. “Add it up. Gimme the key on that cabin.”

  She rang everything up, gave him the total and he handed her a credit card. The credit card belonged to Gilbert Anthony Smyth. Wrong, wrong, wrong! She ran it and it showed approved on the machine. She turned and grabbed the key, slapped it on the counter and said, “You don’t need a receipt, do you?”

  “Why?”

  “Most people don’t,” she said with a shrug. “You can’t deduct supplies unless you’re on business.”

  He sneered at her. Like he was on business?

  She bagged up his things and he left the store.

  Maggie sank behind the counter, her knees useless. She heard the truck start and motor slowly around the store along the drive that led to the cabins.

  No one had reported Mr. Smyth’s card stolen or the machine wouldn’t have approved it. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Or maybe the card was taken off his body? Or were they tracking it? Oh God, how long had that child been with those two?

  Shaking, she reached for the phone to call 911. She identified herself to the dispatcher and tried to calmly explain. “Two creeps in their thirties just checked into one of my cabins with a fourteen-year-old girl I know was here with her family last week—they were camping here. Her name is Chelsea Smyth and I believe she may have been abducted.”

  “Was the girl in distress, ma’am?” the dispatcher asked.

  “She looked terrified! Never mind, I’ll call Stan!” She disconnected and dialed Stan’s cell phone.

  “Yel-low,” he said thickly, like his mouth was full of dinner.

  “Stan! Stan! There’s a kidnapped juvenile and two creeps have her and I gave them a cabin! Need help fast!”

  He coughed and spit. “Jesus, Maggie! The Smyth girl?”

  “Yes! Yes! I just called 911 and the dispatcher asked me if the girl was in distress! You know about this? Where is her family?”

&
nbsp; “The family reported her missing. The bulletin went out a few hours ago—earlier today. They’re searching for her. She walked away from the group to answer nature and didn’t come back.”

  “She’s here. I recognized her. She’s with two creepy guys in a dirty, old, muddy truck. Where’d she go missing?”

  “Northwest of Leadville, in the mountains. They aren’t looking this far south. They thought she was lost but started exploring abduction just lately,” he said.

  “One of the men used her father’s credit card—Gilbert Smyth. Please, hurry before they hurt that girl, if they haven’t already.”

  She heard the sound of Stan’s movement, running, car door opening, huffing and puffing, like he was either at home for dinner or at a diner in town. “Where are you?” he shouted to Maggie.

  “I’m in the store. I’m alone. Dad’s in the house, hardly any campers. I’ve got this shotgun...”

  “Maggie, no!” he shouted. “Don’t you do anything! You lock yourself in the store and wait for me!” Then she heard the car door slam, engine start and Stan flipped on his siren to be en route fast. She listened while he radioed a variety of case numbers and emergency calls to everyone and their brother. She heard him call out in progress and Sullivan’s Crossing. “Maggie,” he said, a little breathlessly. “They armed?”

  “Gun in the rack and big hunting knife strapped on a belt. And Stan—they’re big! She’s just a little girl.”

  “Stay in the store. We’re on the way.”

  Then he tossed his phone, probably onto the seat next to him. She could hear him on the radio in the background so he hadn’t disconnected. She overheard key words like SWAT, abduction, negotiation team, air support, dogs, armed and dangerous. She went to the storeroom for the shotgun. She loaded it. It held four rounds of small pellets and she knew how to use it. It was loud, scary and depending on where it was aimed, potentially deadly. But more to the point, it was probably not deadly. Probably being the operative word...