Rocky Mountain Lawman

She almost laughed out loud, however, when she thought about that calm and peace that seemed to suffuse him and compared it to the fact that he was packing both a rifle and a pistol. She had wanted to ask him about that. What dangers was he prepared for? Bears? Wolves? People? All of the above?

She’d heard over the years that occasionally rangers got killed on the job, but she didn’t think it was very common. Well, if she saw him again she would ask him.

In the meantime, if that peace she had felt in him came from being in the woods, she wanted some of it for herself. She’d gotten an inkling of it during her few days on that hill painting, but she just wished it would stay with her. Instead, by the time she got back to town, it seemed to have vanished.

When her thoughts started to run on Craig Stone and whether she’d see him again, she sharply reined herself in. Hadn’t she come here to escape all that? Hadn’t she just about decided men weren’t worth that kind of effort? She was supposed to be nursing a bruised heart, not seeking another one.

Man, she definitely needed some Zen and tranquility. Just for a while. Time to gain perspective, time to ease the wounds, time to replenish the batteries so she could return to her rehab work fresh and ready to aid the vets who needed all the help they could get dealing with their scars, both visible and invisible.

She made it down the mountain without meeting a logging truck, and pulled into the ranger station. It was a nice-looking log cabin set just inside the entrance to the forest. Two stories high, it appeared big enough for a few rangers to live there for the summer.

Inside the lobby there were some comfortable rustic chairs, some rugs on the plank floor, carousels holding pamphlets and a long counter behind which the ranger on duty sat. A glass-fronted case displayed souvenirs but the only ones that caught Sky’s attention were the little stuffed Smokey the Bear dolls. Before she left, she’d send one to her niece who lived in Hawaii.

The ranger, a woman, rose from a desk and smiled. “I hear you had some trouble from Buddy today.”

“It wasn’t exactly trouble. He was just rude.” Sky felt a little embarrassed, wondering if she’d overreacted to the guy. He hadn’t actually threatened her, he’d just told her to get lost. Still, she thought there was something a bit menacing in the way he’d approached and yelled at her, making a wild accusation.

The tall, dark-haired woman’s name badge said she was Lucy Tattersall. “Well, Craig will get him to lay off. By the way, do you want Craig to show you some other places that might be good for your art?”

So Craig had apparently radioed the entire thing to Lucy. Now she did feel embarrassed. “He didn’t have to make a big deal about it,” she protested. “A guy was rude to me. Apparently he’s a little quirky. But I’m not running from that. I’ll paint in the same place tomorrow. In fact, I’ll paint there until I’ve gotten what I want from the location. It’s beautiful.”

Lucy’s dark eyes sparkled. “You go, lady.” But then the sparkle faded a bit. “Just be careful. Buddy’s never been a real cause for concern, but things can change, you know?”

“I’ll be fine. If he gives me any more trouble, I’ll report it.” She smiled at Lucy. “I guess I got my backbone up. Public land and I’m the public.”

“Exactly,” Lucy agreed. “Buddy has always had an aversion to trespassers, which I can understand. It’s his land, not forest land, and some of our hikers overlook that. But if you see him again and manage to get on his good side, maybe he’ll talk to you a bit. He’s got some interesting stories to tell. So same place tomorrow? Be sure to check in before you go.”

Sky walked out and climbed into her car with the definite sense that Lucy hadn’t told her everything. But why would she? Sky was a stranger and the rangers probably never gossiped, except possibly among themselves.

Glancing at her watch, she realized she had time to clean up before she met with a local veterans group. Somebody back in Tampa had apparently let the VA up here know she was going to be in the area, and the first day she was here she’d been approached to speak with the local support group about what she did as an art therapist.

At first she had been annoyed because she was supposed to be taking a break from all of that, but now she found herself looking forward to it. It would only be an hour or so, depending on how much they wanted to hear, and since she didn’t have any personal involvements here yet, it shouldn’t be too painful.

In fact, it might prove to be part of her healing.

Chapter 2

Craig camped under the stars that night, on a back slope so Buddy wouldn’t get the idea that he was observing him. He could have gone to one of the empty cabins scattered around the forest, provided for the needs of rangers and researchers alike, but when the weather favored it, he preferred to be outdoors.

Over a small fire, he made coffee and heated up some freeze-dried food. The forest sounds changed at night, and he loved the contrast. The wind kicked up a bit, rustling through nearby trees and carrying a wolf howl from a long way away.

The migration of a wolf pack down from Yellowstone still tickled him, although it was over two decades now, and it did create some trouble with surrounding ranchers. The Thunder Mountain pack, however, stayed small, and if it had split, the new pack had evidently migrated elsewhere. So eight wolves prowled this forest, on average, and right now they had some pups they were taking care of.

Moose, elk, bear and pronghorns all thrived here, and were doing better since the wolves’ arrival. Forage had increased for all of them, and even the birds had multiplied since they got to pick over wolf leavings. By and large, this had become a healthy, thriving forest despite past scars left by men’s gold mining and lumbering, and occasional holdovers like Buddy Jackson.

Which brought him back to Skylar Jamison and Buddy’s strange reaction to her. The camera, he had already decided, had to be at the root of Buddy’s concern. But why would Buddy be bothered if someone took a few photos? Why would he use the word spy? In short, why was Buddy acting like a man with something to hide?

How had he even known Sky was there and taking photos? Was he watching the area through some kind of telescope himself?

None of this made Craig feel particularly easy. Buddy had always been the independent and slightly quirky kind of cuss you’d expect to want to live in the middle of nowhere with his family. No problem there. Some folks were just built that way. But clearly something had changed since last summer, and it was something he needed to look into.

Spying? The word rang serious alarm bells.

Well, he’d do what he could to deal with that in the morning. Meantime he could indulge in more pleasant thoughts, like that cute little artist.

All right, she wasn’t little. She was a bit taller than average, and she moved and walked with the ease of someone whose body was in tip-top shape. From what little he could see of her under that baggy, ugly sweater and paint-stained jeans, she seemed to have a nice figure. But her face, even smeared with a daub or two of oil paint, had been winning. Blue eyes, curly brown hair escaping from a ponytail, a face that immediately made him think of a Madonna. Which was something he didn’t often think about.

Apart from everything that had been going on, he’d sensed an aura of sorrow around her. A feeling that life hadn’t been treating her well recently. Not that he should care. He would do his bit by keeping Buddy out of her hair and in a few days she’d be gone. The way everyone else left.

Lucy had chided him once. “You really need to marry a forester.”

“Are you offering?”

That had sent her off into gales of laughter, the more so because Lucy didn’t run to men.

The thing was, though, Craig didn’t feel lonely. At least not often. Overall he was pretty content with the way things were. He’d long ago figured out the average woman needed far more year-round attention than he could provide, but he loved his life and wasn’t about to give it up. The thought of a picket fence made him shudder. So he settled for a few good friends and the companionship of the wilderness. He didn’t have a whole lot to complain about either.

The night didn’t promise to grow too cold, so he doused the fire with his leftover coffee and climbed into his sleeping bag, pillowing his head on his saddle. Nearby his mount, Dusty, stirred occasionally in the horse version of sleep.

He stared up at the infinite stars and thought of all the people before him who had lived just such a life, from shepherds to cowboys to hunters, and knew he was in good company. It was a great life, and yes, it was missing a thing or two, but they didn’t fit. Que será, and all that.

He drifted into sleep with visions of Sky dancing around the edges of his thoughts. Simple thoughts, for the most part, because his life was largely a simple one, mostly untethered and unconfined except for the dictate to protect this forest and all its inhabitants.

The next thing he knew, his eyes were popping open to a flaming sunrise sky. Yawning, he sat up and debated whether to try to start another fire and make some coffee. He liked starting his days with coffee, but he’d pretty well put paid to that by dousing his fire pit last night. It was still wet, and an unusual dew clung to everything.

Rising, he made his way to a nearby stream, washing up with special soap that wouldn’t pollute the water, then donned a fresh shirt and underwear. While he didn’t exactly look perfectly creased, that was to be expected when he didn’t touch base overnight. Good enough for what he had to do, anyway.

He saddled Dusty, fed him a handful of oats and promised him better grazing in just a little while. He kept his promise as soon as he reached the spot where Sky had been painting. While Dusty ate his fill of the tenderest shoots of green, he surveyed the valley and across it, Buddy’s place.

It sure was a long distance, he thought again. So what the devil had bothered Buddy?

Pulling out his binoculars, he scanned the area around Buddy’s place. Even with their aid, he couldn’t see a whole lot of detail at this distance, certainly nothing to ring alarm bells.

So what had bugged Buddy? That telephoto lens and the resolution it could probably provide? If so, Buddy was up to no good. And how had Buddy become aware of it anyway? Just seeing someone return to the same hilltop a few days running shouldn’t have been enough to bother him, not at this distance.

Smothering another yawn, he capped the binoculars, let them dangle from the strap around his neck and urged Dusty toward the trail he knew was in those woods. Maybe Buddy would be neighborly enough to offer coffee. Somehow he doubted it.

Before long, he sighted a few hoofprints that told him someone had ridden up this path recently. Probably Buddy yesterday. At least he was keeping his ATVs to his own property. They’d had a discussion about that just the year before last. ATVs did a lot of damage to the ecosystem, and weren’t allowed in this forest except in a few places. One or two ATVs wouldn’t have been a problem. The problems began when you got a lot of people with them, which seemed to happen nearly everywhere they were allowed.

By the time Craig reached the valley, the sun had fully risen over the eastern foothills and had begun reflecting off the top of the mountains ahead of him. He’d approached Buddy’s place from this direction any number of times, and figured by now they saw him coming.

When he reached the creek that tumbled through the valley, though, he frowned. As far as he knew, they’d had a normal snowpack this past winter despite its being warmer, so why the hell did the water seem slower and not as deep as it had only a few weeks ago? He’d have to check that out. If a beaver dam or a deadfall cut the water to the valley by too much, a lot of life would suffer.

Given the warmer winter, they were apt to lose a whole lot of moose and elk to ticks as it was. They didn’t need to be going thirsty on top of it.

Dusty picked his way carefully among the wet rocks, reaching the other side without having even wetted his knees. Not good.

Craig could feel that he was being watched. The certainty settled over him but it wasn’t a comfortable feeling. In the past he knew his approach had been watched, but it hadn’t made him uncomfortable. For some reason this time it did, and his guard went up although he kept his posture relaxed.

Something sure as hell was going on. The question was what. His instincts insisted on kicking into high gear.

Keeping his pace slow and lazy, he began to wind his way up the narrow track that led to Buddy’s place from the valley. The man had a wider road that connected to a county road, but it was out of the way for right now, and not the way he wanted to approach. He wanted this to appear like just another of his friendly visits, visits he made in a neighborly fashion a handful of times every summer.

But as Dusty climbed steadily, he felt as if he were approaching an armed enemy encampment. He told himself not to let his imagination run wild because Buddy had said something a little off the wall just yesterday. But the feeling wouldn’t leave him alone. It was such an unusual notion that half of him resisted, sure he must be losing touch with reality. The other half, however, couldn’t let go of it.

Yet nothing seemed to have changed. Not one thing that he could see. The atmosphere had changed somehow, markedly. How was that possible?

At last he reached the first signs posting Buddy’s property. There was no gate to bar the way, although rusty barbed wire stretched away in each direction. He passed the signs by only a few feet, though, and waited. He knew Buddy would show up shortly. He always did, and Craig treated those no-trespassing signs with respect.

Up the hill in front of him, he could make out signs of Buddy’s house, a log cabin, really, and the outbuildings, mostly hidden by trees. He stiffened ever so slightly, though, when he glimpsed what appeared to be a new cabin under construction. Buddy didn’t have that large a family.

Changes. They might signal something, might explain Buddy’s sudden increase in paranoia. He wondered if he could find out what was going on.

Soon he heard the roar of Buddy’s ATV coming down the winding path. When it rounded the last corner he saw his first cause for worry: Buddy wasn’t alone. A stranger rode behind him, a camouflaged stranger carrying a rifle. God, what was Buddy into now?

Buddy pulled to a stop and turned off his engine. “Craig,” he said with a nod.

“Buddy.” Craig looked pointedly at the guy behind him. “You need someone to ride shotgun now?”

“Just my friend, Cap. I’m allowed to have friends, right?”

“Never said otherwise. You’ve just never greeted me with a rifle before.”

“Been having a problem with trespassers. Seeing a gun makes them pay attention to the signs.”

“Guess it would.” Nor was there a damn thing illegal about it. “Nice to meet you, Cap. Craig Stone, Forest Service.”

Cap gave the shortest of nods. Craig intuitively disliked the man. Something about his eyes, hard eyes. If he learned nothing else, Craig was learning that Buddy was changing something.

“You here for a reason?” Buddy asked.

“Actually, yes. You know the public has a right on public lands, Buddy. You can keep people off your property, but not out of the public forest. So if that painter lady wants to come back today, or tomorrow, or any time, she’s allowed to be up on that hill without you bothering her.”

“She was taking pictures of my place.”

So there it was. Craig paused a thoughtful second. “I asked her what she took pictures of. She’s trying to capture the light for painting later because it changes so fast. She hardly even knew you were here until you bothered her. So tell me, Buddy, there’s nothing about your place that you’d have to worry about being photographed from damn near a mile away. Is there?”

“Of course not!”

Cap seemed to second Buddy by spitting tobacco on the ground.

That answer was too emphatic by a mile, Craig thought, though he let absolutely nothing show on his face. “Didn’t think so,” he said amiably. “Anyway, just leave the tourists alone. You didn’t need me to remind you. As for the lady painter, I’ll tell her to point her camera in a different direction if it’s got you so worried.”

Buddy shifted on the seat of the ATV. “Naw,” he said finally. “If she’s just a painter...”

“Well, I saw her canvas. So did you, I imagine. She’ll be here a few days then move on like everyone else. It’s not like she’s settling in across the valley.”

“I guess not.

Craig started to turn Dusty, then paused. “Say, have you noticed any deadfalls or new beaver dams? Water seems low in the valley creek.”

Buddy hesitated. “No, can’t think of one. I’ll keep my eye out, though.”

“Thanks. You know how much damage too little water in the valley would do. We’ll probably lose enough elk and moose as it is.”

“Ticks are gonna be bad,” Buddy agreed. “Too many already.”

“Yup. Anyway, if you see me poking around, that’s why. I’ve got to find out why the creek is drying up.” He touched the brim of his hat, nodding to both men, and completed Dusty’s turn.

Sunlight glinted off something in the undergrowth, and his eye followed it swiftly. A trip wire? Just a foot outside Buddy’s fence?

He reined Dusty, feeling the men’s eyes on his back as if they were hot laser beams. He didn’t turn. “Buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Trip wires are only legal if all they do is set off an alarm.”

“I know that!”

“Then have a good day. And make sure they don’t run too far past your fence. Public land again.”

Without looking back, he rode slowly away.

Now he was absolutely convinced that problems were brewing, and he was going to have to get to the bottom of it. Soon.

He hadn’t liked the look of that Cap guy, either. Hell’s bells. Trouble was coming to his forest. He knew it as sure as the sun was pushing toward midday.

* * *

Sky liked being in Conard City almost as much as she liked being out in the forest. The place had a worn charm, sort of like fading elegance, especially downtown. The downtown was old enough to bring to mind images of women in long skirts, maybe some of them sporting Edwardian stylishness, swishing along the streets. There were even hitching posts left around the courthouse square, and the courthouse looked as if it had been lifted right out of New England.

She liked to sit on the benches in that square, amidst the gardens that the city carefully tended, and now, the second morning after her encounter with Buddy, she even received nods and greetings. Some old men played checkers at a stone table with benches beneath a huge cottonwood, and she wondered if that table had always been there or if it had been put there for them.

Her artist’s eye was taking snapshots, and mentally framing them as if for a canvas. Maybe someday, if she was here long enough, she’d ask those old guys if they’d mind if she took a photo of them.

She was dressed for painting again, and she liked the fact that nobody looked askance at her splattered jeans, shirt and jacket. It was a fact of her life that sooner or later most everything she owned showed signs of oil paint. Sometimes she joked that it just jumped out of the tubes at her.

She had carried her painting supplies with her and set up her portable easel with a blank canvas on it. On the bench beside her, she spread out her tarp and then opened her box of brushes and tubes of oils. At home she preferred a sturdy acrylic palette, but when traveling she used one covered with tear-off papers, like a stiff pad. The farther she got from a studio, the more problematic cleanup became.

Looking around, she thought about the colors she wanted for undercoating the canvas. Though the viewer would never see them, at some level they satisfied the brain, as if while they might appear invisible, they weren’t.

But even as she sat there staring at the stark white canvas and trying to pick tones and hues from the world around her, she knew she was chickening out. She ought to go back to the woods and paint what she had wanted to paint, not hide out here in the center of town.

She shouldn’t let that crank drive her off. When had she ever been one to give ground anyway? Four years in the army, some of it in a combat zone, had stripped her of ordinary fears. One man with an attitude wasn’t enough to run her off, not anymore.

But then she realized what she really wanted to avoid: Craig Stone. Her attraction to him had been immediate and strong, and she didn’t want that. Not now, maybe not ever again. And certainly she didn’t want to grow any feelings, even purely sexual ones, for a man who clearly wasn’t going to be around except every now and then. Heck, given his job, she might never run across him again.

So why hesitate? As men went, that made him pretty safe, didn’t it?

She was used to being very clear about things, at least in her own mind, but the lousy breakup with Hector had left her uncertain in some way she hated. Worse than uncertain, she realized. Unsure. Very unsure. As if she didn’t trust her own mind and feelings anymore.

After her time in Iraq, where she’d been caught up in some pretty ugly stuff, she’d had a certain amount of post-traumatic stress. Of course she had. Damn near everyone had it to one degree or another. For some it was more crippling than others, was all.

She’d been fortunate. She’d come home with a bunker mentality, a tendency to jump at every unexpected noise and a total loss of any sense of safety. But she had come back without disabling flashbacks, and after about six months she’d been able to drive again without seeing every oncoming vehicle or object alongside the road as a potential bomb. She knew how lucky she was, especially after spending the past few years working with vets who were a whole lot less lucky.

She didn’t often have nightmares anymore, she functioned, she felt safe most of the time and an inclination toward explosive outbursts had been gone a long time now. War was a life-altering experience, and not all its effects would vanish, even with years, but she believed she’d come back as far as she ever would.

This square, for example. There’d been a time when she would have found it extremely uncomfortable here, surrounded by strangers who walked by, with cars moving along streets, windows that stared blankly back at her and doors that could conceal any kind of threat. But here she was, feeling pretty much fine, although maybe a smidge less comfortable than she had felt alone on that hillside with pretty good sight lines. So maybe this sense of uncertainty was all the breakup’s fault. Hector certainly hadn’t added to her self-confidence any.

Which still left the question of why she was sitting here in the square when the place she really wanted to paint was that hillside from yesterday. That rocky valley and creek had called to her, suggesting both nature’s strength and mystery. This lovely but tame park didn’t do that.

Still, the morning eased by, the people shifted, cars left and new ones appeared. Birdsong emanated from nearby trees. A wandering dog came up to sniff her, then decided she didn’t have anything worth pursuing, like food. It wandered on and was greeted by the guys playing checkers.

She still hadn’t pulled out a brush, the canvas sat blank in front of her, and she finally accepted that something about that Buddy guy had triggered problems she had believed she had overcome.

She was sitting here paralyzed, emotionally and physically. The way it had sometimes been after she returned from the war. Lost in some place where even thoughts seemed to fall silent, where time passed unnoticed. Just plain lost.

She tried to whip up some anger, either at Buddy or herself, but it wouldn’t come. Moving meant action, and action meant taking risks. Anger was dangerous if it grew too big. She understood all about it.