discerning look and without a word made himself useful.
The four horses nervously crab-hopped around, knowing that the end of the ride meant exercise. She was using the biggest one, a sure-footed dark bay named Samson, as a packhorse. If he’d been a suitable mount she’d have put Chad on him simply because he was so sure-footed, but Samson had more bad habits than the Rolling Stones- all of them. Put together. He hated being ridden, he bucked and crabbed and shied, he tried to bite, he blew his belly out when you tried to saddle him, he’d try to brush his rider off against a bush, a tree, a building, anything that was handy. But he was okay with carrying a load, and he was strong enough that he could carry more than the average horse.
She’d never admit it to anyone, but she was a bit fond of the cantankerous bastard. He was what he was, he knew what he’d do and wouldn’t do, and the two of them got along fine as long as neither she nor anyone else tried to ride him.
The other three horses, a light bay, a chestnut, and a roan, had their own foibles but at least they’d tolerate riders. The horse she’d chosen to ride, the roan, was more fractious than the other two, which was why she’d chosen him for herself. She’d had him the shortest length of time and hadn’t yet learned all his tricks, but if he decided to bite or buck, better it was with her than with a client. The chestnut was the most docile, so she put Chad on him. The light bay fell somewhere between the chestnut and the roan in temperament.
“Supposed to rain tonight, tomorrow,” Ray said to her as he closed the gate on the trailer and latched it. “Not good hunting weather.”
“I know.” The rain wasn’t good for people, that is; the animals hunted and fed regardless of whether or not it was raining. “We’ll get in some time today, though.”
“Good luck. Hope I see you back here tomorrow.”
She flashed him a smile. “That
She began saddling the horses, and again Ray helped her, because Chad was watching them with a completely befuddled look on his face and Davis was scowling as he punched numbers on his cell phone, as if he could force it to have service out here if he just hit the magic combination of buttons.
“Can that guy ride?” Ray asked under his breath, nodding toward Chad.
“He can manage. I’m putting him on the chestnut.” She was in the process of saddling the chestnut as she spoke. She eyed Chad’s legs, made the stirrups just a little longer than if she’d been saddling a horse for herself.
“That’s rough country you’re heading into. Hope he can stay in the saddle. What about the other guy?”
“He said he’s experienced. I’m taking him at his word.” There was nothing else she could do. Make Davis demonstrate his riding ability, maybe? Sure. She could really see that happening.
Next Samson was loaded down with their supplies. The big boy blew out a breath and turned his head to nudge her rather gently, considering his size. She lightly slapped his neck. “Are you anxious to get on the trail?” she asked him, and he blew again as if he understood her.
While she was saddling Samson, Davis and Chad had finally begun doing something, taking their rifles from their cases, loading them, and sliding them into the scabbards on the right of the saddles. She had sighted her own rifle in the day before, and hoped they had done the same before shipping the weapons; they would do some shooting to re-sight, but with luck they’d need only a couple of shots. She hated to use more ammunition than necessary.
Finally, she handed out the canisters of bear spray, two each, and the holsters to carry them in. “Keep these within easy reach, not in a pocket or your saddle bag,” she said.
Chad looked at the canister. “Why bother with this when we have the rifles?”
Angie grinned. “Ever tried to take a leak while you’re holding a rifle? All that zipping and unzipping? You’d need three hands.”
He turned beet red. Davis actually laughed, the sound surprising her because she hadn’t expected any sign of humor from him, even at someone else’s expense. “If a bear got after you, you wouldn’t have to worry about unzipping,” he said to Chad.
“I don’t imagine any of us would,” Angie interjected. If the two men had been friends, the comment would have been funny, but it was obvious they weren’t friends at all. Even worse, Davis seemed to be downright hostile toward Chad, which made this outing not only strange, but downright uncomfortable.
“The difference between hunting bear and hunting elk is that the elk won’t try to drag you off and eat you,” she continued. “Have either of you ever used bear spray before?”
“Of course,” Davis said, sounding bored, but Chad turned the canister over in his hand and was reading the directions.
“I can’t show you when we get to the camp,” Angie said, “because the spray itself contains food scents that can lead a bear to you. Right here is as good a place as any.” She showed him how to aim it. “Spray a cloud between you and the bear, and don’t wait until it’s actually charging or it may be through the cloud and on you before the spray settles low enough. Never, never spray if the wind is blowing toward you, because then you’re blind and you still have a bear after you. And always have two cans on you, because one might not be enough.”
Chad gave her a disbelieving look. “I thought bear were shy, and ran away unless you just stumble onto one.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Ray said. “Bears are predators. Now, I wouldn’t want to startle a grizzly, especially a sow with a cub, but if you ever look back and see a black bear trailing you, you’d better pray you have a rifle and that you’re a good shot, because it’s coming after you and two things are certain: It can run faster, and climb better, than you can. If you don’t get it, it’s going to get you.”
That was pretty much bears in a nutshell, so Angie didn’t add to it right then. When they reached the camp she’d institute the camp safety rules, but all of that was better done when they could see the actual layout of the camp.
They were wasting daylight, time in which they might actually do some hunting and, please God, bag a bear right away, so she said, “Let’s ride.”
Chapter Eight
Mitchell Davis dismounted, looked around the camp she’d leased, and surveyed the portable toilet set off to the side. He turned and looked at her, an incredulous expression in his cold eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said in a tone so sarcastic that Chad flinched and turned red yet again; on the ride up, he’d been the target over and over again of Davis’s serrated tongue, which chewed up and shredded rather than destroyed with a fast, clean slice. Davis had something to say, none of it good, about how Chad rode, the brand of rifle he owned, the cheapness of his scope, even the newness of his boots.
During the ride Angie had thought several times that if she’d been Chad, she’d have dug in her heels, told Davis to kiss her ass, and gone back to the truck. Now, with that hostility turned on her, she bit her tongue and silently apologized to Chad, because he’d no doubt kept his silence for the same reason she was keeping hers: She needed the money. This was her payback for feeling superior, when she wasn’t at all; she was in the same boat Chad was in, paddling for all she was worth.
“Maybe I’ll take up meditation,” she mused aloud, earning a covert chuckle from Chad that he quickly turned into a cough.
She didn’t know what the big deal was about the camp. Exactly what had Davis been expecting? A lodge, maybe? She had no idea what Chad had told him, how he’d described the accommodations to Davis, but she’d been completely honest with Chad about the camp when she had leased it. It wasn’t the best she’d ever been at, but neither was it the worst. At least they weren’t sleeping on the ground, and she’d done that more times than she cared to remember.
