Shadows of the Mountain Read online

  SHADOWS OF THE MOUNTAIN

  by

  BEV PETTERSEN

  Bev Pettersen is a three-time nominee in the National Readers Choice Award and a two-time finalist in the Romance Writers of America's Golden Heart® Contest as well as the winner of other international awards including the Reader Views Reviewer’s Choice Award, Aspen Gold Reader’s Choice Award, NEC-RWA Reader’s Choice Award, Write Touch Readers’ Award, Kirkus Recommended Read, and a HOLT Medallion Award of Merit. She competed for five years on the Alberta Thoroughbred race circuit and is an Equestrian Canada certified coach. If you’d like to know about special offers or when her next book will be available, please visit her at http://www.BevPettersen.com where you can sign up for a newsletter.

  OTHER BOOKS BY BEV PETTERSEN:

  Jockeys and Jewels

  Color My Horse

  Fillies and Females

  Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash

  Studs and Stilettos

  Millionaire’s Shot

  Riding For Redemption

  A Scandalous Husband

  Backstretch Baby

  Along Came A Cowboy

  A Pony For Christmas (Novella)

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  SAMPLE ALONG CAME A COWBOY

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Author’s Note

  OTHER BOOKS BY BEV PETTERSEN

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE MUSTANG RIVER RANCH had hosted a variety of guests, from nature enthusiasts to skillful hunters, but never had Kate Miller witnessed such unnecessary violence.

  “Don’t shoot the rabbit,” she repeated, knocking the boy’s arrow to the ground before he followed up with a second shot.

  “Think I nicked him,” his older brother called, his voice jubilant.

  “Stop it, now!” she snapped, her voice much too angry to use on pampered guests. But these two boys had been uncontrollable all week, chucking rocks at the cattle, scaring the horses and laughing uproariously when a rider fell off. Placing them in Kate’s survival class had been her boss’s last attempt to keep them occupied and out of trouble. No one had anticipated they’d find anything to hurt on the deserted archery range.

  “You’re here to learn how to carve a bow and arrow,” Kate said, smoothing her voice. “Not to hunt.”

  “What’s the sense of making this stuff if we can’t kill something?” Luke, the older boy, asked. He gave a disgusted snort and flung his bow on the ground. “You wouldn’t let us shoot the groundhog or those noisy squirrels. We’re not even allowed on the skeet range. My dad said this ranch would be fun. But it sucks.”

  His brother, Johnny, followed suit, flinging his bow and arrow aside. “Yeah, I’m glad we’re leaving today. This place is the worst.”

  Kate knew she had to keep her mouth shut. Early in their stay, the boys had been flagged as high maintenance, and staff had been cautioned not to lose their temper. But they were difficult to entertain.

  Most of the ranch’s activities centered around riding. However, these boys sneered at horses. They flatly refused to go on a trail ride and scorned anything involving “stinky” animals. Even learning to rope a steer didn’t catch their interest. Still, the hefty price that guests paid for a week’s stay meant they needed to be entertained. The ranch’s mantra was to provide anything the guests wanted. And Kate needed to justify her job, especially since her survival classes seemed to have been relegated to the spot where frazzled parents sent their disinterested children.

  “Look,” Luke crowed. “I really did nail him. He’s bleeding!”

  Kate wheeled, not quite believing that one of his crude wooden arrows had actually hit something so small. Most people couldn’t reach the massive canvas target and even she had trouble landing in the bulls eye. But the rabbit was hopping awkwardly, a splotch of red on its shoulder.

  “I’ll catch him,” Luke said. “Smash his head in with a rock. Then make a lucky rabbit’s paw, just like Dad’s.”

  “No!” Kate leaped sideways, blocking his path. She might not be able to teach them to respect the wildlife, but she wasn’t going to stand back and let them brutalize a helpless bunny. At least not any more than they already had.

  “Get out of my way,” Luke said, shoving at her arm. “That rabbit is wild. Anyone can claim it. It’s my kill.”

  “You’re not going to hurt anything else on this ranch,” Kate said, speaking through clenched teeth. “Or scare the horses or cattle or any other animal, wild or tame. Or I will be very annoyed.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Luke said. “What can you do about it? You’re not the boss of me.”

  Both boys snickered but they must have caught something in her expression, because for a rare moment they stopped talking. Luke even backed up a step.

  “I don’t understand why everyone here cares so much about dumb animals,” he muttered, no longer meeting her eyes. “I don’t want a stupid rabbit’s foot anyway.”

  And that’s all the rabbit was to them, Kate thought, despite the best efforts of staff to foster—if not a love for animals—at least a certain degree of respect.

  “You can both go to the pool now,” she said. “But listen to the lifeguard... I’ll be dropping by later to see how you’re getting along.”

  She knew the boys didn’t care about swimming. They’d complained about the lack of a diving board and how there were no small children to dunk. But the pool area was one of the few places with cell phone reception—the best place to log on and watch more of their gory news videos. And while she didn’t want to reward their behavior, she and the lifeguard were the only two staff members who could be trusted not to strangle this bloodthirsty duo.

  “Finally!” Luke crowed in triumph, patting his pocket, checking that his phone was still there. He wheeled and bolted for the pool, followed closely by his brother. Neither boy gave the suffering rabbit a second thought.

  Kate hurried toward the scatter of spruce trees, scanning the grass as she ran. She spotted the arrow, then the rabbit’s tracks and a deeper imprint where he’d dug his nails into the dirt, trying to flee. Unfortunately she could also see specks of blood. Not red, more of a brownish stain. Blood didn’t look as stark on grass as it did on a less porous surface. On rock, it didn’t absorb. It just...pooled.

  She faltered, but quickly shoved aside her reluctance, driven by the thought of the wounded animal. If she could find him, she might be able to patch him up. The barn had plenty of first aid supplies, and an empty box stall was always good for convalescing.

  The rabbit�
��s tracks didn’t go far though and when she saw his motionless body, it was apparent he was critically injured. He never would have stopped in the open like this, not when he was so close to the trees. He lay motionless with thumping sides and widened eyes. Judging by the streak of blood, the arrow had pierced his back.

  Kate slumped, heavy with remorse. She hadn’t wanted to take the boys to the archery range but their father insisted. So had her boss.

  She placed a piece of brush around the dying rabbit then eased back, not wanting to scare him but not wanting to leave him alone either. The least she could do was stick around and protect him from scavengers. Let him die in peace.

  Already a crow cawed from a nearby tree. Another landed, followed by three more. Blood had a smell of its own, a coppery stench that tainted the air, clogging one’s nostrils, drawing predators... And memories.

  She shook her head, determined not to revisit last year’s tragedy. But it was impossible not to remember.

  The howls were her first warning.

  “What’s that noise?” Danny asked, blood trickling from his mouth. “Is that Dad again?”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Kate said, wiping his mouth and adjusting her jacket over his chest, careful to avoid the broken bone jutting from his shoulder. “I’m going to climb down again and check on him.”

  “Do you think he could come up and wait on the ledge with us?”

  “I’m not sure,” she lied. “But I’ll be back soon.”

  Danny’s dad wasn’t climbing anywhere. He’d fallen to the base of the cliff, along with his three horses. The man was no longer conscious. It was amazing he was still alive considering the pulpy mess of his head. His horses were in equally bad shape. Falling a hundred feet off a mountain tended to do that. Danny had been the luckiest, caught up on a ledge thirty feet above. Even so, his injuries were grave, with blood leaking from his mouth and ears.

  She eyed the darkening sky as she half slid, half scrambled down the steep slope. Her boyfriend had gone for help hours ago. She didn’t know how far he’d have to hike before he found cell phone coverage. It was probably still too early to expect a helicopter, no matter how hard she prayed. However, Danny and his dad needed urgent medical help. Judging from the howls, they might also need protection from predators.

  She fell the last few feet but rose and scrambled across the rocks, ignoring her exhaustion. It had been more than an hour since she’d last climbed down and she already knew what she would see.

  The first horse, a chestnut with a light mane and tail, had mercifully died on impact, her neck twisted at an odd angle. She’d been Danny’s mare.

  The second horse, a bay gelding with a white blaze, lay prone on the ground, his eyes glazed. Two of his legs were broken and a saddle was twisted beneath his belly. One stirrup had been ripped off, but she knew where that was. Still wrapped around the man’s mangled leg. She hadn’t been able to remove the saddle earlier—the horse had been thrashing too wildly—but he was quiet now, passive with shock.

  The third horse, a stocky buckskin lifted his head when she hurried by, his eyes still alert. Danny said the accident happened when the pack slipped. The buckskin had panicked and leaped sideways, dragging the other two horses and their riders over the cliff. Why Danny’s dad thought it was a good idea to have the animals securely tied together, she’d never know. It didn’t matter now. Both horses were dying, and probably the man as well.

  “It’s okay,” she said, aching for the horses and her inability to give them any sort of relief. Surely someone on the helicopter would bring a gun. Hopefully help would arrive soon. At least the crows had vanished, driven away by the approaching darkness. She hated how they’d gathered. Cawing. Waiting. Prepared to peck at animals before they were even dead.

  Danny’s dad lay thirty feet past the buckskin. Smitty, she reminded herself. Danny said his father’s name was Smitty.

  She followed the same routine as before, saying his name, checking his pulse and assuring him Danny was fine, guessing the man couldn’t hear but desperate to comfort him anyway. He didn’t appear to have an ear on the crushed half of his face. She wasn’t sure about the left side.

  At least he was warm. She’d managed to gather some clothing, ripped from their pack and strewn over the mountainside. Basic first aid wasn’t going to help Smitty and he shouldn’t be moved, judging by the grotesque angle of his neck. But the mere act of covering him up made her feel less helpless. At least it had until she’d heard the howls.

  She pulled out her knife and desperately began gathering more wood, enough to serve as both a signal fire and protection. It was a challenge looking after two emergency sites, but neither Danny nor his dad could be moved. Besides, she assured herself, wolves were howling but they were far too smart to bother campers. On the other hand, it was hard to ignore the blood staining the rocks, the horses and even the reddened shirt she’d wrapped around Smitty’s head. Its coppery scent filled the night air, acting as a dinner bell.

  “I’m building a fire,” she called up to Danny, her voice falsely bright. “Be back soon.”

  She thought she heard his weak reply but the wind was always gusty on this side of the mountain. She couldn’t stay here for long. Danny was conscious and she could still help him. She’d come down every hour, check the fire, add wood. Make sure nothing bothered the helpless man and the two surviving horses. Now that she knew the spots for the best toe and handholds, the climb was getting easier.

  The buckskin jerked in alarm, struggling to rise, but only able to drag his hindquarters a few feet before collapsing.

  Broken back, Kate decided clinically, as she hurried to his side. “Easy boy,” she said, gently stroking his neck. “You’re okay.”

  But this horse wasn’t ever going home. She didn’t know what made him suddenly try to rise. She wished she could persuade him to lie still. It would be less excruciating, easier still if shock took over and helped numb the pain. But seconds later she caught a blur of gray and realized why he was trying to flee... The wolves had arrived.

  “What are you doing?” a voice behind Kate said. “Is your class over already?”

  Kate turned, grateful to be pulled back to the sunny meadow but needing a moment to compose herself. Sharon Barrett stared with raised eyebrows. And while Sharon was a fair boss, the woman didn’t tolerate idle employees. Regardless, there was no way Kate was walking away from this dying rabbit. Not yet.

  “Can you please lower your voice?” Kate asked. “Those boys shot a rabbit. I put some brush around him so he’d die in peace. I’m just waiting so I can bury him.”

  “Those brats,” Sharon whispered, her voice much softer. “Any chance he’ll live?”

  Kate shook her head.

  “Well, you’re the expert,” Sharon said. “I owe an apology to you and all the staff. I should have refunded that family’s money and asked them to leave days ago. You’re the only one they even half-listen to.”

  “But I wasn’t able to control them either,” Kate said.

  “This is the least destructive day they’ve had,” Sharon said dryly. “You did better than anyone else.”

  “I don’t think I was able to teach them much,” Kate admitted. “They weren’t interested in learning how to build a shelter.”

  “Not many guests are. These classes seem to be a waste of your talent.”

  And that was the big problem. The ranch couldn’t keep employees who didn’t contribute to the bottom line.

  “Of course I’m happy to continue helping with the children,” Kate said. “Or in the kitchen. Or with the trail rides. Anywhere at all.”

  “That’s what I wanted to discuss,” Sharon said. “We have a special group coming in for a three-day overnighter. To ride in and see the mustangs. Donna broke her wrist when she fell yesterday so I’d like you to take her place. Look after the meals and anything else they need.”

  “Certainly,” Kate said quickly, relieved Sharon hadn’t walked out here to rehash the
low demand for her survival classes. If employees were flexible about helping out, they had a better chance of keeping their job year round. Fortunately Kate was experienced with horses as well as cooking over a campfire.

  A year earlier, she’d been a Montana Park Ranger and a dedicated volunteer with the search and rescue team. She’d tried working in the office but had felt so stifled she’d left after three weeks, needing a position where she could work outside. The Mustang River Ranch had been the only one to offer employment. Fortunately Sharon accepted that Kate had some geographic limitations.

  “I assume we’ll be sticking to the Mustang River trail?” Kate asked. “Where it’s good grazing?”

  “Absolutely,” Sharon said. But the empathy in her blue eyes showed she knew Kate didn’t want to go near the mountains. “It’ll be an easy in and out,” Sharon added. “Very little climbing. And Monty will be the guide.”

  Good news. Monty was a backcountry veteran. He’d lost very few horses in over four decades—and more importantly he’d never lost a rider. But it was surprising Sharon was freeing him up to lead such a routine trip, especially since the ranch was booked a year in advance.

  “How many riders?” Kate asked, mentally calculating their food requirements. She’d have to meet with the cook and Monty. Figure out the meals and number of pack horses. Sometimes a vehicle made a drop camp, setting up tents and leaving caches of food so everything was on location at the end of the day. But the trail they’d be taking was crisscrossed by the Mustang River, so this group would be limited to whatever their horses could carry.

  “Not sure of exact numbers yet,” Sharon said. “But I’ll be personally meeting with the group’s rep to review their menu...and other specific needs.”

  Specific needs. So not a standard three-day ride. Possibly a glamping package? The food wasn’t that different for the pampered rides. However, the presentation involved more work. And riders wouldn’t be expected to cook their own meals. But the way Sharon said “specific needs” raised a flag. And Monty’s services were generally reserved for experienced trail riders, the hardy folk who slept with no tent—only a bedroll—and preferred to grill their own steak.