“Dismount,” he called to Kanut. “We’re taking a break.”
“How?” The idiot looked around as if expecting steps to magically appear.
“Better move fast,” Luis called.
Too late. Topaz used her first trunkful of water to drench her back—and the trooper and his gear.
Kanut dismounted by falling off. He landed on his backside in the stream, right in the middle of the milling herd of mammoths, startling Ruby’s youngster into a shrieking cry.
Luis hauled the sputtering trooper to his feet and onto the bank before he could get trampled by protective females. “You need to dismount pretty quick when they stop,” he said. “Sometimes they like to roll in the dirt.”
“Thanks for that little tip.” Kanut took off his jacket and body armor to shake off the water.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Kanut shot him a dirty look but kept his mouth shut, not even asking how far they’d come or how long the break would last. In fact, the whole morning, he hadn’t complained or asked for any concession to his inexperience.
A proud man, Luis thought. One who tried to keep his word to be helpful. One worth showing a little mercy.
“We’ll stay here for three hours,” Luis said. “We can heat up some water for a hot meal and nap if you want to.”
“Don’t stop on my account,” Kanut said, teeth chattering.
“I’m not. The herd needs to rest and refuel.”
Luis retrieved two filter bottles from Emerald’s burden and walked upstream to fill them. When he got back, the trooper had stripped off his shirt and pants and was wringing them out. A little stocky, Luis thought. Muscles going downhill, but not bad for a middle-aged copper.
Suddenly embarrassed to have been noticing a nearly naked man, Luis turned away, wading in among the mammoths.
Little Jet was gleefully playing in the water, rolling and splashing. The troika had climbed the bank to munch on the aspens. Ruby was in midstream, napping on her feet, Opal beside her, fur dripping, sides heaving.
“What’s wrong, Opal?” Luis murmured. “That baby weighing you down?”
He ran his hands over her torso, grimacing at the gritty lumps of ash hardened into her fur. Somewhere deep within that giant belly, held in place by layers of muscle, a baby mammoth weighing at least a hundred pounds was growing bigger every day.
Had the baby’s bulk shifted position since Opal entered the transport back at Anjou’s mammoth farm? It seemed farther back than he remembered, but he saw no sign the baby had entered the mother’s long birth passage. Not a month, then, but not today either. He’d have to keep an eye on Opal, make sure he wasn’t pushing the pace too much.
Kanut was dressed by then and was wiping down his rifle with an oiled rag. Luis put him to work with the tiny camp stove, boiling water to prepare a freeze-dried meal from one of the saddlebags of food. Meanwhile, he checked the rest of the mammoths, pulling off clumps of congealed ash where he could, and moved the solar cell to an open spot for recharging the tablet. Gray clouds still roiled in the sky, but maybe enough photons were leaking through to keep the tablet powered a few more hours. When they stopped for the night, he’d set up the wind-powered generator for a more reliable power source.
The reconstituted chili tasted like a feast.
By the time Luis had washed out the empty packets and stowed the trash, Kanut was snoring, his rifle at his side. For a first-time mammoth rider, he’s done well.
Luis’s stomach was full, the sun was warm, and the mammoths were resting and browsing on nearby vegetation. Why not? With his backpack for a pillow, Luis lay down for a nap.
This is the life. No desk, no traffic, no time clocks. The only sounds were the screeches of magpies in the trees and the comfortable grumblings of the mammoths. Brandon might yearn for a bungalow and a baby, but the wilderness was bliss for Luis.
Somebody kicked at his boot. “Wake up!”
Damn it, that trooper’s a pain in the butt.
But Kanut was still sitting on the ground, with a face like thunder.
The man kicking at Luis’s foot was someone he’d never seen before . . . and the man was holding Kanut’s rifle.
CHAPTER 27
Stupid heroics
Kanut felt like an idiot, sitting on the ground while some low-life son of a moose pointed his own rifle at him. My Browning! He felt as violated as if some drunken barfly had kissed his wife.
Caught asleep, for God’s sake, with his weapon lying right out in the open where any asshole could take it. A greenhorn rookie would be sacked for making such a blunder. And Kanut didn’t even have his body armor on—he’d hung it up to dry. There it was, hanging useless on a bush, leaving him feeling naked as a baby.
Saints above, if the squad room heard about this, he’d never live it down.
“Stay down.” The stranger facing Kanut was a tall man, flannel shirt, jeans, and hiking boots like most of the population of rural Alaska. Behind him was another man, similarly dressed. Both were dirtied with ash.
Nobody touches my Browning. “I’m a state trooper,” Kanut growled. “Put down that weapon, son, or you’ll find yourself in a world of trouble.” I’m too old for this. His back ached, abused by sleeping on the ground and hours of mammoth riding.
“Shut up,” the man said. “You must have a truck or something somewhere. Hand over the keys.”
The background man whined, “I dunno, Vernon.” Kamut mentally
