Bear of a Honeymoon Page 8

  At the moment, he was rushing into the forest between shifts, massive camera bag slung over one shoulder, clearly more intent on the quality of light than the looming spectre of happy hour. We bid him a hasty good day and pushed on for our room in the family quarters. But despite my best efforts, payback time was forcibly delayed by Claire's untimely intervention.

  "Want to come for a ride?" she asked, after we'd heard the news of her day at school, which seemed to alternate between "boring" and "awesome" on a cosmic scale fully understood only by people under the age of fifteen. "Dad and Lyle are taking the travel agents up the Rim Trail."

  Matt needed no further urging, only time to change costumes. And it sounded like a fun idea to me, too. Besides, I was keen on getting Lyle's perspective on the bear poaching. As an Indigenous person and lifetime resident, he should have some valuable insights.

  As we marched up the path to the stable I noticed Claire was missing her customary appendage. "Where's Lynette?" I enquired.

  "Oh, she stayed in town after school. Her mom's got cancer," my goddaughter said. Her tone was even—the simple statement of an accepted fact of life. "On his day off Shane takes her for treatment and they pick Lynette up on the way home."

  "Has her mom been sick long?" I asked, trying to absorb what, to me, was a bombshell.

  "About a year," she said.

  "That must be very hard on them," I said, remembering my own mother. I knew exactly what cancer could do to both victim and family.

  "Yeah. I think Shane worries a lot," Claire replied, in her grown up way. She sounded as though she'd given the matter some consideration. "But he tries to keep Lynette from seeing."

  "He must be a good brother," Matt put in.

  "The best," Claire agreed with conviction. "He takes care of

  everything. You should've seen how upset he was when their sister Frannie ran off with the biker. But he couldn't do anything then, 'cause he was still in jail."

  "In jail!" I croaked, suddenly sceptical about this sainted brother.

  "Yeah," Claire shrugged. "Shane got into a bad gang when he dropped out of school. He's done a couple of stretches."

  How did my goddaughter get so fluent in jailhouse jargon, I wondered?

  "Last time was car theft. But the probation officer said he'd have a chance if he could hold down a job. That's when Dad took him on here. Kind of keeps an eye on him, you know?"

  "What about their father?" Matt asked, reading my mind again.

  "Oh, none of their fathers lives with them," Claire said, delivering another of her matter-of-fact bombshells. Thankfully she was walking ahead so she couldn't see the shock on my face. I threw Matt a glance. He just shrugged, shoulders and eyebrows in unison. This was uncharted territory for me—but for him...

  "I guess Shane's pretty much the man of the family," I offered.

  "Un-huh."

  "But I got the impression he lived here," Matt said. "I was sure I saw him coming out of the staff cabin when we passed it around noon."

  "Sure, that was him," I agreed. "He was headed toward the stable with a gym bag over his shoulder."

  "Probably was him," Claire confirmed. "But he doesn't live here. He just has a locker up at the Playpen," she said, referring to the staff residence by its nickname.

  I was starting to mull that one over when Denise Pardue came panting up from behind. "Heard there was some chance of a trail ride," she puffed, slowing to match our pace.

  "You like to ride?" I asked, trying to be polite—wishing she'd get lost.

  "That I do," came the enthusiastic reply. "I spent a couple of years working a dude ranch in Arizona. More time in a saddle than on my feet. Different country though. It'll be nice to get back to riding in the woods."

  I could see her point. Shepherding dudes around the baking Arizona desert sounded like tough duty to me. It was a long way and a far cry from Seattle. But Denise seemed to be quite the woman for getting around.

  We were closing in on the stable where a number of fellow guests clustered by the corral. I recognised Hans, perched on the top rail of the fence and called out to him. Normally I might have been tempted to whip off some crack about our morning's adventure. But there was nothing funny about what we'd learned from Roy and Liam, and Claire's parents would probably appreciate a policy of less said the better. Instead, I settled for some inanity about hitting the trail.

  Interest had been great enough to force Dan to schedule two rides. The first was expected back any minute. We joined the group waiting at the fence, where the chatter was as friendly as the afternoon sun. I didn't much care if the others ever got back.

  A sudden cry from Claire caught me unprepared. I hadn't notice her wander off.

  In the moment it took to realise she'd called from the stable, Matt and Denise got ahead of me and they were already through the door when I caught up. Instantly blinded by the relative dark, I heard a succession of frightened whinnies and struggled to catch sight of my goddaughter.

  "Down here," she called again, this time in an urgent stage whisper. "Keep the others away."

  I held up my hand, signalling those behind to stay where they were before I crept slowly down the gloomy aisle.

  "What is it?" Matt asked, his own voice pitched low.

  "Rattlesnake," Claire hissed. "Reno's been hit."

  An icy bolt shot through my body from neck to extremities. I hate snakes. Even harmless garters are enough to set my teeth on edge. I'd never seen a rattler and I would very much have preferred to keep it that way. But life doesn't always give you choices. Taking a deep breath, I inched closer, having no idea what to do. Denise solved the problem.

  "Take this shovel," she commanded, shoving the implement in Matt's direction. The pair were clearly visible now that my eyes had adjusted to the dim light. Claire stood like a statue peering over the half wall of Reno's stall, Matt and Denise only a metre away in the aisle. "Where's the snake, Claire?"

  "Right in the corner," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's coiled."

  That news came as no surprise. An ominous sound, more buzz than rattle, pierced the charged stillness.

  "Okay Matt, we're going to move slowly to the door," Denise said, her tone quiet and commanding. "When you're ready, say the word and I'll yank it open. You'll have to move fast with that shovel." The woman had clearly taken charge and no one seemed inclined to debate her orders, though I wasn't too keen on the role she'd assigned my husband.

  When they finally moved, it was over in a heartbeat. Trembling from head to foot, I rushed to comfort Claire. She wasn't in the mood. Frantically, she pushed me away and ran sobbing to Reno's side. Carefully averting my gaze from the corner of the stall, I followed her in.

  Denise was already holding the horse's head for a closer look. But even from where I stood, the bite marks were obvious. There was very little blood. Just four symmetrical punctures. Claire buried her face in Reno's neck, crooning softly.

  "Don't worry, hon," Denise spoke in a surprisingly gentle tone. "He should be fine if we can keep him breathing." She gave Claire's shoulder a brief pat then continued, all business now. "I'm going to need your help. Can I count on you?"

  Claire raised her face, shining with tears, and nodded mutely.

  "Good. Now I need a length of hose and a sharp knife. Can you get those for me?"

  Claire nodded again, hiccupping as she fought to control her tears.

  "Hose in the wash stall—knife in the tack room."

  "Fine," Denise said. She fished in her pocket and produced a tissue, which she handed to Clair. "Bring them to me as quick as you can." Over her shoulder she said, "Matt, see if you can track down the vet. Taylor, help me keep this guy calm."

  We all had our marching orders. Claire disappeared at the speed of light. Matt not much slower. I grabbed a fist full of halter and stroked the sleek chestnut neck. Reno's flesh twitched beneath my fingers, the underlying muscles strained taught. Silky nostrils flared and a rim of white circled the huge brown
eye he turned on me, but the stallion stood perfectly still.

  "Lucky it hit him on the nose," Mother Earth commented. "It's mostly skin and cartilage, so the venom can't spread too efficiently. All we have to worry about is swelling."

  "Will this do?" It was Claire toting a coil of garden hose and an evil looking knife.

  "Perfect. You hold the coil while I cut off the two pieces we need." Claire did as she was told as the older woman sliced off two six-inch sections of hose.

  "What are you going to do with them?" I asked.

  "Keep his airways open," said Denise. "Like I said, the worst danger right now is from swelling. You can see how he's starting to puff up already."

  I'd been so intent on her performance with hose and knife that it was a shock to register how disfigured Reno's face had already become—though not the biggest shock I was about to get. That came with the sight of Denise carefully threading a length of green garden hose into the horse's nostril. Claire groaned. The stallion flicked his head in annoyance and I held firm—to the halter and my stomach.

  "There," said Denise, apparently satisfied. "He'll swell a lot more yet, even his eyes and ears. But as long as he can breathe, we'll be okay until the vet gets here."

  A sudden commotion in the alleyway drowned out Claire's murmured words of thanks. Dan and Lyle hit the doorway together, only spared an Abbott and Costello routine by the width of the opening.

  "Nice work," Lyle declared, immediately inspecting the makeshift airway and the animal's bloated face.

  "You saved his life," Dan beamed, heartily pumping her hand. Denise was that kind of woman. You'd never think to give her a hug. "He wouldn't have made it till Doc Spencer arrived if you hadn't known what to do. Where'd you learn that trick, anyway?"

  "Arizona," she said simply. "I've seen it done before."

  "Thank God," Dan said. "Now what about that snake?"

  "I think you better have a look." Matt had quietly followed the other two men into the stall and stopped to inspect the author of Reno's misfortune. Despite my inherent revulsion, I drew near with the other adults. Claire was too intent on her charge to care about snakes.

  It surprised me, though. Not more than a metre long and thick as my forearm. In comparison with the garters I knew and detested, this was a veritable monster. But the snake wasn't the object of Matt's interest. He was concentrating on a burlap sack beneath the lifeless body—and the length of rope beside it.

  Lyle gave a low whistle and exchanged a knowing glance with his partner. "What is it?" I asked, catching the interaction.

  "Somebody knows our horse," said Dan.

  Lyle raised and lowered his chin in a ponderous nod.

  "What do you mean?" I was getting impatient with the pantomime. "Reno loves to untie knots," Dan began. "And he's mighty good at it."

  Lyle scooped up the length of rope, threading it through his fingers as he took up the narrative. "We have to use a metal snap on his lead shank. Tie him up with anything else and that boy is walking loose before you turn your back. It's kind of a game with him. Just for fun. He does it with his teeth."

  "This wasn't for fun," Dan muttered, kicking at the sack with a scuff-toed boot. "Somebody purposely tied that varmint up and left it here for Reno to find."

  "Just a matter of time after that," Lyle said in his slow, grave way.

  "Reno wouldn't give up till he got it open."

  "Then out comes the snake—" "And zap!"

  Chapter Nine

  A midnight crash in an unfamiliar house is enough to jolt most people straight out of bed. Not my husband. In our brief experience together, I'd seen him sleep peacefully through booming thunder, wailing sirens, and a burst water pipe. I'd seen all of this, because, like any normal person, I woke up.

  That's why I was sitting bolt upright in my friend's dark guest room, wondering who had thrown what. The crash suggested broken crockery and the verbal donnybrook outside our door supported that conclusion. Brooke's voice pierced the night in a furious rage.

  "You'll ruin everything we've worked for. You and your half-assed schemes."

  "If it weren't for my so-called schemes this place'd still be a glorified bed and breakfast. You're a coward, Brooke. An old lady. You drag your feet and buck me every step of the way. But I was right before, and I'm right now."

  "You stupid, arrogant, idiot. You've got such a lousy head for business you don't know what you're talking about. Too right I drag my feet. If I didn't we'd be bankrupt already. You're never satisfied, Dan. Endless renovations—the new wing, kitchen upgrades, fancy atrium. It's never enough."

  "What are you talking about? Look at this place. It's a first-class resort."

  "Exactly, a first-class resort. That's the business we're in. Remember? So why are you spending all your time—and our money—on that flybitten horse? The new cabins were bad enough. But we could probably have sneaked through, especially if the travel agent promotion was a success. But you pushed us to the edge with that horse and now you've scared the life out of the travel agents. We'll be lucky to get a single booking out of this."

  "I screwed up the travel agents? What about that fiasco with the computer? Don't try to cover up your incompetence by blaming me for the rattler. Somebody planted that snake and you know it."

  "Of course, I know it. But any hotelier with his head anywhere but up his ass would have remembered his guests. You just left them out there. Pandemonium everywhere. All they heard was "Rattlesnake!" Imagine what they were thinking—Jeez."

  "Yeah, imagine what they were thinking. Imagine what I'm thinking. Who'd want to kill such a beautiful animal, Brooke? Who? Just tell me that. He's insured for a bundle."

  "Are you accusing me of trying to kill that horse for cash?"

  "If the shoe fits."

  "How dare you?"

  In the course of my career, there have been many times when I longed to be a fly on the wall. Not tonight. The back door slammed. A car roared. Gravel flew. I sat silent and motionless, trying to decide what to do. Brooke and I had shared everything in the years we'd lived together. Back then, I would have gone to her without a second thought. But time and circumstances change a relationship. Still, fools rush in...

  The hall was dark. Assuming Brooke had gone to her room, I padded to the door opposite and applied a tentative knock. When there was no response, I quietly turned the knob and poked my head inside. My friend sat on the bed, head in hands, shoulders shaking with her sobs. Raising her head, she regarded me with red-rimmed eyes and a look of total defeat.

  "Go away, Taylor," she said. "There's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do."

  I hesitated, feeling like a peep-show voyeur. Brooke looked away, dismissing me. With an immeasurable sense of loss, I withdrew to the guest room. Matt and the cats slept peacefully on. Their oblivion made me jealous as I crossed to the window and parted the curtains to gaze upon the night. The moon, high and nearly full, bathed the trees in silver, their needles shining in stark relief. A movement caught my attention and as I watched, a silhouette detached itself from the shadows and glided up the path. There was no mistaking the owner of the moving form. Moonlight reflected like a beacon from the blonde ponytail.

  For a moment, I wondered where she could be going. Then I remembered Reno and my goddaughter's maternal devotion to the big, gentle beast. Fumbling in the semi-dark, I pulled on jeans and a sweater and headed for the door. Claire was moving fast with an appreciable head start. She had already disappeared into the stable when I arrived.

  "Claire," I called softly. "You there?"

  The blonde head peeked around Reno's stall door wearing a surprised expression. "Auntie Tee. What are you doing here?"

  "I saw you coming this way and thought I'd keep you company. What's up, kiddo?" I asked, joining her in the stall. "Worried about Reno?"

  "Yeah, I guess," she replied, stroking the white blaze on the stallion's normally handsome face. "The anti-inflammatory Doc Spencer gave him seems to be working fine. S
ee how much the swelling's gone down?"

  I agreed that he looked much better, then waited, quietly running my hand down the sleek neck that no longer quivered beneath my touch. The reporter in me was dying to pump Claire for information. See if she had any idea of who or why. But this wasn't the time. My goddaughter had something else on her mind.

  "Why do they do it, Auntie Tee? Why do they have to scream at each other?"

  "Does it happen often?" I asked gently.

  "All the time." Claire sounded exasperated, confused. "Mom's always mad. Dad stays away from her as much as possible. But whenever they get together, the screaming starts up. I don't think they've said a civil word to each other in months."

  I didn't know what to say. To suggest that she not worry, that things would all work out, would only insult a child of her intelligence and perception. "Sometimes pressures just build up," I finally offered.

  "Problems get so big, people don't know how to handle them. They get so scared it makes them mad and they need somebody to blame."

  "But that doesn't make sense. If they've got problems, why don't they try to help each other out. All this fighting isn't doing any good."

  "Doesn't work that way, hon. People are too emotional. It might be logical to work together. But logic can't account for all the baggage we build up. Lots of times today's fight has very little to do with today's problem."

  "You mean, like holding a grudge?"

  "Not consciously, maybe. But that's the idea. We let what happened in the past colour our judgement of what's going on now. Sometimes rightly, sometimes not."

  "Are my parents going to get a divorce?" The directness of the question shouldn't have surprised me. I know Claire too well.

  "I can't answer that, honey. Only your mom and dad know how far things have gone. Only they know whether they can, or even want to sort them out. But whatever happens they both still love you." Of course, Claire knew that. I just hoped it helped to hear the words.

  For a while we just stood there together, pretending to focus on Reno. But eventually we agreed that he should get some sleep and the two of us returned to the house in separate cocoons of silence. This was hardly the sort of situation to fill a newlywed with confidence. If two smart, motivated people like Brooke and Dan—with a normal life and a wonderful daughter—couldn't make a go of their marriage, what hope was there for Matt and me with our stubborn independence and globe-trotting careers?