Luke had clean forgotten.
‘I w-w-was there. You m-must have just—’
‘Oh, so you were?’
‘Y-yes, sir.’
‘So how come Abe saw you with this young lady here, in her truck, driving up Wrong Creek?’
‘I w-w-w—’
Luke’s tongue was nailed to the roof of his mouth, which was maybe just as well because he didn’t know what to say anyway. His chest hurt like it was being squeezed in a vise and his cheeks were starting to burn. A few moments ago, alone with Helen, he’d felt for once almost like a man. Now he was a stupid, tongue-tied kid again.
He glanced at Helen, just to confirm this was how she now saw him too. Instead, she took his look as a call for help.
‘He was with me because I asked him for help,’ she said.
Luke’s father looked at her. He was still smiling but his eyes were like frozen stone.
‘And, thanks to him, you’ll be pleased to know, this morning we caught and collared two wolves.’
His father lowered his head a little and raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You caught two wolves?’
‘That’s right. Thanks to Luke, here. He helped me find them.’
Luke’s father was silent for a moment, while he considered this. Clyde was watching him carefully for a lead on how to react. His father’s horse pawed the ground a couple of times.
‘So where are they?’
‘Well, as I said, we put radio collars on them.’
‘Then what?’
Helen frowned. ‘Sorry, what do you mean?’
He gave an arid little laugh and looked at Clyde.
‘Well, have you already shipped them out or what?’
‘Mr Calder, I think you know what the intention is here. We—’
‘You just turned them loose again.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Let me get this straight, young lady. I’ve just been with a good friend and neighbor of mine, Abe Harding, gathering his herd. And this man, who, unlike your bosses back in Washington DC, doesn’t have a bottomless barrel of tax dollars to burn, finds six of his calves have gone missing. That’s a loss to Abe of, what, three thousand dollars? And you tell me you’ve just caught two of the varmints responsible and then let them go again? And I should be pleased?’
Luke could see Helen was angry. But scared too. There was nobody, in the end, who his father wasn’t able to scare. Luke saw her swallow.
‘Mr Calder, the whole idea—’
‘The whole idea, so you and Mr Prior told us, was that we had a lone wolf here. What was it you called it, a “disperser” or something? Now it turns out there’s - how many?’
Helen hesitated.
‘You don’t want to tell me?’
‘I believe there’s a pack.’
‘Oh, so it’s a pack now. How many exactly?’
‘Perhaps nine. But five of them only pups and—’
‘Nine? And you caught two and just let them go again? So they can go on killing our cattle and ruining good men like Abe Harding?’
‘Mr Calder—’
‘Thank you, ma’am. I’ve heard enough.’
He gathered his reins and sharply hoisted his horse’s head, turning him in front of them, then looking back over his shoulder.
‘Luke?’
‘Y-yes, sir?’
‘When you’ve finished whatever your business is here, I’d appreciate it if you’d come down to the house. There’s one or two things you and I need to clear up.’
Luke nodded. His father touched his hat at Helen.
‘Miss Ross.’
He jabbed his heels into the sides of his horse and loped away down toward the lake, with Clyde at his heels. Luke started to gather up his gear. He felt too small and shamed even to look at Helen. As he was picking up his bag, she put her hand on his shoulder.
‘Luke?’
He straightened up, but still couldn’t meet her eyes.
‘It’s my fault. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to help me.’
‘It’s no b-big deal.’
And when he’d gotten all his things together, without another word being spoken, he walked to the stream to collect Moon Eye and swung himself into the saddle. And he rode off down the slope, without once looking back, but feeling her eyes upon him all the way.
Helen spent the rest of the afternoon radio tracking the two collared wolves. Mercifully, the signals stayed high up Wrong Creek and well away from any livestock.
She came back around seven and took a shower. Now that the fall was settling in, the water was so cold it gave her a headache. Soon she’d have to wash herself indoors.
She found herself watching over the shower door, hoping to see Luke’s horse appear across the lake. But she knew he wouldn’t come, not after what had happened that morning. She wanted to celebrate their success, but there was only Buzz to do it with and, bright as they were, dogs didn’t seem to grasp the concept.
Shivering, she ran back to the cabin and quickly dried herself and dressed. Then, after checking her messages (none), she lit a celebratory cigarette (her first in three days) and put on some Sheryl Crow. But she made the mistake of listening to the lyrics and when Sheryl started going on about being a stranger in her own life, Helen dived for the off-button. She wanted to celebrate, for heavensake, not slit her wrists.
She thought of writing to Joel. Another bad idea. And why the hell should she? It was his turn. Then, since for once there was a good signal on the cell phone, she decided to call her mother in Chicago. All she got was an answering machine. It was the same with Celia in Boston. And with Dan Prior. Where the hell was everyone?
As if in answer, the phone, still in her hand, rang.
It was Bill Rimmer. He congratulated her on trapping the wolves and said it sounded as if she had won the bet they’d had over who’d catch the first one. He was heading up to the Hardings’ to talk about those missing calves, he said. Did Helen want to come along?
‘Thanks Bill, but not without full body armor.’
‘Then, I tell you what. When I’m through up there, I’ll buy you a drink in town.’
They arranged to meet in an hour’s time at The Last Resort. Helen figured it might be good public relations to put in an appearance there anyhow. Rumors of the Hardings losses were sure to be flying thick and fast.
It was almost dark when she drove into Hope and saw the red neon sign of The Last Resort glowing halfway along Main Street. She drove slowly by on the other side of the road, checking out the cars parked there and hoping to see Bill Rimmer’s among them. It wasn’t.
She didn’t much fancy the idea of waiting for him inside, so she drove a little farther along the street, and parked by the laundromat. Two young cowboys were in there, clowning around while they loaded wet clothes into one of the dryers. Helen had used the place herself a couple of times, once to wash clothes and once to wash wolf scat.
It was a method Dan had taught her in Minnesota to find out what a wolf had been feeding on. You tied each scat inside a labeled piece of pantyhose, knotted at each end, then put them in the wash. When they come out all you have left is hair and bits of bone. Other laundromat users aren’t too keen on this process, so you had to be a little discreet. The hair in every scat Helen had washed the other night was mixed: some deer, some elk, but a lot of cattle hair too, which didn’t mean the wolves had actually killed cattle; they might simply have found a carcass and fed on it.
Fifteen minutes later, Bill Rimmer still hadn’t arrived. Helen was becoming embarrassed at the looks she was getting from passing cars and especially from the two young cowboys in the laundromat. Maybe Rimmer had parked somewhere, else, she thought. Or maybe he’d phoned the bar to leave a message. She got out and headed across the street.
She regretted it as soon as she stepped through the door. Below the antlered trophies on the walls, a dozen pairs of living eyes swiveled and locked onto her, none of them friendly and none Bill Rimmer’s.
She nearly turned around and ran back out to her truck. But then the stubborn streak in her, the one that always landed her in trouble, said why on earth shouldn’t she come and have a drink if she wanted? So she took a breath and walked right up to the bar.
She ordered a margarita, settled herself on a stool and lit a cigarette.
Apart from the barmaid, she was the only woman in the entire room. The place was crowded, although the only faces she recognized were Ethan Harding and those two loggers she and Luke had seen up Wrong Creek. She guessed these were the ones Doug Millward had mentioned. The three of them were talking at the far end of the bar. Occasionally they looked her way, but Helen was damned if she was going to smile and give them another chance to cut her dead, so she ignored them, along with all the sidelong looks from those she didn’t know.
She felt like a scandalous outcast or a stranger who’d just ridden into town in some corny western. She wanted to flee but didn’t want to give them the pleasure of knowing they’d driven her away. She imagined the place erupting in laughter after she left.
She finished her drink and ordered another, pretending to be interested in a basketball game on the TV and wondering how the hell she ever thought coming to this godforsaken dump might be good for public relations. She drank the second margarita too quickly. They were strong and she wished she’d had something to eat first.
Then, in the mirror behind the bar, she saw Buck Calder coming in through the door. That was all she needed.
He eased his way toward the bar, working the crowd like a vote-hungry candidate. Helen watched his reflected progression and couldn’t help but be impressed. She wondered what those whose hands he shook and shoulders he squeezed really thought of him. They seemed dazzled by his smile and his wisecracks, by the way he tucked their names into his greetings. She saw him notice her and register her stare and though she immediately looked away, she knew, with a small rush of panic, that he was headed her way.
‘I can’t imagine what’s come over all these fellas, letting a pretty young woman sit drinking on her own.’
Helen gave a laugh that became almost hysterical. He was standing right behind her, looking at her in the mirror.
‘They’re not normally noted for shyness around these parts.’ Helen couldn’t think what to say. The tequila seemed to have numbed her wit. She saw in the mirror how inane her smile looked and tried to adjust it. Beside her, a man was collecting a round of drinks and when he moved away, Calder slipped neatly into the slot. Their bodies were only an inch or two apart and their legs briefly touched. She could smell his lemon-scented cologne and was disconcerted. It was the same kind her father now used.
‘May I make amends for their lack of courtesy and buy you a drink?’
‘Well, thanks, but actually, I was supposed to be meeting somebody here. I think he must have—’
‘What is it, a margarita?’
‘No really, I think I’d better be—’
He leaned over and called along the bar, ‘Lori? Can we have us a beer and another margarita here? Thanks, sweetheart. ’
He turned his head and smiled down at Helen.
‘Just want to show there’s no hard feelings about this morning. ’
Helen frowned, as if she didn’t know what he meant.
‘I appreciate you’ve got a job to do. Maybe I was a little harsh.’
‘Oh, I was born with a thick skin and broad shoulders.’
‘From here, Helen, I’d say they were just about right.’ She smiled. Her mind reeled. Was that a pass, for heavensake?
‘I think Luke was maybe a little more upset than I was.’
‘He gets that way sometimes. Takes after his mother.’
Helen nodded slowly, buying time. It seemed like dangerous territory.
‘Sensitive, you mean,’ she said.
‘I guess that’s one word for it.’
‘Being sensitive isn’t such a bad thing, is it?’
‘Didn’t say it was.’
There was a silence that was only saved from getting awkward by the barmaid coming to tell Helen there was a phone call for her. She excused herself with Calder and made her way through the crowd to the alcove where the phone was. It was Bill Rimmer, full of apologies for standing her up. He said Abe Harding had given him a hard time.
‘Do you still have all your limbs?’ Helen asked.
‘I haven’t counted them yet. Those are some dogs.’
‘What about the calves?’
‘He didn’t find a single bone up there. But he says he knows it was the wolves. Says he’s seen them and heard them.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I had to tell him that to qualify for compensation, he’d need verification that the losses were caused by wolves.’
‘And that went down pretty well, I imagine.’
‘Oh yeah. He really liked that bit. Anyhow, I spoke with Dan and he says maybe you and he should fly tomorrow, see if you can get a real fix on the pack, now you’ve a couple of collars on them.’
‘Sure, that’s a good idea.’
Rimmer apologized again for not showing up, but said he figured she might be better off sweet-talking angry ranchers on her own anyway. Helen told him in a lowered voice that she was having a drink with Buck Calder.
‘Well, there you go, Helen. He’s your main man.’
‘Thanks, Bill.’
Calder was talking to someone else when she got back to the bar and Helen thought this might be her chance to leave. But he immediately turned his attention back to her. He raised his glass and clinked it against hers.
‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Congratulations on catching them.’
‘Even though I let them go again.’
He smiled and they both drank.
He wiped the froth from his lips. ‘As I say, you’ve got a job to do and I understand that, even though I may not agree with it. I was just mad at Luke for leaving the herd, specially after seeing how many calves old Abe lost. I’m sorry if I was . . . well, discourteous.’
‘Oh, that’s okay.’
Helen took out another cigarette and he picked up her matches and lit it for her. She thanked him. For awhile neither of them spoke.
‘Luke knows the country up there really well,’ Helen said.
‘Yeah, I guess he does.’
‘And he’s got a real feel for my kind of work.’
‘Yep, he’s a born bunny-hugger.’
They both laughed.
‘Does he get that from his mother too?’
‘I guess. She grew up in the city, anyhow.’
‘Where all us bunny-huggers grow up, of course.’
‘That’s how it seems to be.’
He smiled and lifted his glass to drink, keeping his eyes on her over the rim. And suddenly, despite herself, Helen could see how women might find Buck Calder attractive. It wasn’t his looks, which weren’t bad, she had to admit, for a guy his age. It was entirely to do with confidence. It oozed from him. The way he focused his attention on you was brazen, laughable even, if you chose to see it that way. But Helen guessed many women might prefer instead to bask in it.
Without asking her, he ordered them both another drink and changed the subject. He got her talking about herself, about Chicago and her work in Minnesota about her family and even about her dad getting married again. And though this was clearly another of his techniques with women, he did it so effortlessly and with such well-measured empathy that Helen had to stop herself spilling secrets that, sober in the morning, she knew she would regret.
‘Does it bother you that she’s so much younger?’
‘Than my dad? Or me?’
‘Well, both, I guess.’
Helen thought for a moment. ‘Than me, no. I don’t think so anyway. Than him . . . well, damn it, yes. If I’m honest, it does. I don’t know why, it just does.’
‘A man can’t help falling in love.’
‘Yeah, but why can’t he pick on someone his own a
ge?’ He laughed. ‘Grow up, you mean.’
‘Exactly.’
‘My momma used to say men never grow up, they just get grouchier. There’s this little boy hiding inside every one of us and he’s there till the day we die, hollering I want, I want.’
‘And women don’t want?’
‘I’m sure they do. But they can handle not getting it better than men.’
‘Oh, is that so?’
‘Yes, Helen, I believe it is. I think women see some things a little more clearly than men.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like, wanting something can be better than getting it.’
They looked at each other for a moment. Finding a philosopher in him surprised her, though as always, what he said seemed to have some other meaning swirling beneath it.
Ethan Harding and his po-faced logging pals went by, on their way to the door. Ethan nodded to Calder but none of them so much as glanced at Helen.
Looking around her, she realized how much the crowd had thinned. They had been talking for nearly an hour. She said it was time she went home and resisted his efforts to persuade her to have a last drink. She’d had more than enough already, as she could tell by the way the walls moved as soon as she stood up.
‘I sure have enjoyed our talk,’ he said.
‘Me too.’
‘Are you okay to drive? I could easily—’
‘I’m fine.’ She said it a little too quickly.
‘I’ll see you to your truck.’
‘No, no. Thank you. I’m fine.’ She was sufficiently sober, thank you very much, to know it wasn’t a great idea to be seen leaving the bar with him. There would be enough tongues wagging as it was.
The street was empty and the cool of the night air delicious. She searched in her bag for the keys to the pickup and after emptying its entire contents onto the hood, found them in her jacket pocket. She managed to turn the truck around without hitting anything and drove with great deliberation out of town, already aware that she might have embarrassed herself, though still too drunk to care. Shame and self-loathing, she murkily recalled, only came with the hangover.
Doing her best to follow the meandering pool of her headlights, she remembered she was going flying with Dan and that hangovers and small planes didn’t go too well together.