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  “Finally,” she said. “I’ve been worried about you two.”

  “Honey, we’re home. And so is our front yard badger. Cute little booger,” Patrick said. “Have I ever told you how special he is to American Indian culture? Not just because he never surrenders, but also because he digs deep for knowledge, insight, and healing powers. As a loner he is . . .”

  “Self-reliant. Yes, you have. Quite a few times, actually.” So many that she could recite his litany. But the badger had been digging up her grass and flowers all summer. Patrick, claiming a lifelong love of the tough little creatures—and an appreciation for their control of rodents—had refused to trap it. They were pretty cute, actually. Those black badges on their cheeks, the white stripe down their faces. But the digging claws! They could burrow underground in the time between when she spotted one out the window and before she came out with a broom. She thought she’d finally chased it off, but apparently not. “I know you’ve got a lot to do if you’re going to be leaving for Highland Park in the morning.”

  “Out the door by five a.m.” Patrick walked toward Susanne, arms open.

  Something in his eyes and posture looked off, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She fell into his hug.

  Patricia stood, her culotte pants swinging below her knees. She crossed her arms. “Fine. Just run off and leave your only sister on the last weekend of her visit. I know where I rank.” Her voice was light and teasing.

  Patrick laughed into Susanne’s hair. “You’re welcome to saddle a horse and come with us, sis.”

  “Uh, no thanks. I had my fill with Nightmare.”

  “Midnight.”

  They both laughed with the easy jocularity of family. It was an old joke between the two of them. When Patricia had been a young girl, the Flint family had gone on a trail ride. Patrick and Pete, their brother, had ridden off and left Patricia. Her horse, Midnight, had turned around and run for the barn. She’d started screaming, “Whoa, Nightmare, whoa,” and had refused to get on a horse since. She wasn’t a big fan of planes either and had declined Patrick’s offers to take her up in his new toy.

  “Hey, Dad, can John go with us? We’ve got room in the trailer for his horse, right?” Perry’s voice seemed less high pitched than it had even that morning at breakfast. Susanne’s little boy was growing up.

  Patrick released her. “Sure, buddy. But that means we have to leave by four.”

  John said, “My dad can bring Plug over later, Dr. Flint, and I can spend the night, if you want me to.”

  “That will work.”

  Perry grinned. “And can I bring a gun?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “But when?”

  “When you’re sixteen. And then only in the mountains.” His father clapped him on the back. Then he noticed George for the first time. “George.” The two men shook hands, and Patrick clapped George on the elbow. “Great to see you.”

  “Likewise,” George said.

  “If John’s going, does that mean I don’t have to?” Susanne decided that Trish looked worse than Patrick. She was always green around the gills after flying, but this was different.

  “Nice try,” Patrick said.

  “What happened today?” she asked her daughter.

  Trish feigned nonchalance. “Dad nearly ran over a dead guy on the runway in Dubois. Now, I have to go take a shower. I’m supposed to pick Marcy up at five.”

  Susanne felt heat seeping over her face. The drugs. Finally. “What?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it, Susanne.” Patrick was using his soothing-the-patient’s-family voice— a very bad sign. “

  “Are you kidding me? You ran over a dead guy?” Patricia knocked her wine over. Red liquid flowed onto the floor.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, Mom. Thanks.” Trish disappeared up the stairs before Susanne could form a response.

  She dashed into the kitchen for a towel. Her fingers felt numb, and so did her lips. More signs the medicine was working. She headed back into the living room. Ferdinand was lapping up the spilled rosé. Everyone was talking at once. Susanne stared at the mess for a moment, then set the towel down, picked up her wine, and drank it down in one long series of gulps.

  Chapter Five: Sneak

  Lake Desmet, Wyoming

  Thursday, August 11, 1977, 6:00 p.m.

  Trish

  “I wish I didn’t have to go this weekend.” Trish leaned her head into Ben’s shoulder, her bottom lip in what she hoped was a pretty pout. Her parents thought she was with Marcy. She felt a little bit guilty about that. They didn’t know about Ben. Couldn’t know about him. They wouldn’t approve. But what they didn’t know wouldn’t exactly kill them or anything.

  She gazed out over Lake Desmet from the bench seat of the ancient pickup truck her parents had helped her buy with her babysitting money. White foam edged the waves that stretched across the lake’s surface to lap against the foot of the red cliffs on the other side. The wind had picked up like mad in the last hour. Just in time for a mountain trail ride in the morning. Wind made horses crazy. Great. After the day she’d had today, with the awful plane ride and then nearly crashing into a dead man when they landed in, like, California—not really, but they were so far away from Buffalo that it felt like it—she thought she’d earned the right to stay home that weekend. But no. Her dad was so unreasonable. Which reminded her that she had to tell Ben all about her day. She would. In a minute.

  “I wish I was going with you.” Ben wrapped a strand of Trish’s hair around his finger.

  She loved it when he did that. She loved everything about him. His thick black hair, the little scar on his forehead, his broad shoulders, his kind eyes, his gentle hands. How he smelled like outside—dirt, sunshine, and clean sweat, with a hint of plain old soap. The way he looked at her. Especially the way he looked at her, like she was something precious.

  Six months before, she had thought she loved Ben’s cousin, Brandon Lewis. That was before Brandon had turned out to be a big fat meanie. Then, he’d broken up with Trish because she wouldn’t have sex with him, about the time she’d found out he two-timed her with a teacher. If she’d known about the teacher, she would have broken up with him first.

  Of course, she also used to think she hated Ben. His awful father and uncle had kidnapped Trish and forced Ben to go along with it. Now his father was dead—killed by hers during her rescue—and his Uncle Billy Kemecke was in jail, for life. Ben had done a stint in juvie because of the whole thing. But, after he’d been released, when she’d gotten to know him, she’d realized he was a good person and had been a victim, like her. If he hadn’t done what he was told, worse things could have happened to her, and his family would have made him pay. Maybe even killed him, like they’d killed their cousin, right before Trish’s eyes.

  Still, even when she’d realized Ben liked her, she’d resisted her own feelings. But then she’d gotten lost with her cousin Bunny in the Gros Ventre Wilderness the month before and nearly died. She’d had a major change of heart. Ever since she’d gotten back, she and Ben had been together. Completely, totally together.

  And it was amazing.

  She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. As she did, her chin brushed against the silk collar of her shirt. It was just a little bit disco, and she couldn’t believe her parents had let her buy it. “You know you can’t come to Highland Park with me. No one knows about us.”

  “I don’t see why we can’t tell people. It’s been nearly two months.”

  “Because my parents would freak out.” And that was putting it mildly. Not only because Ben had been part of her kidnapping, however unwillingly, but because he was two years older than her. Brandon had been, too, and they’d let her date him, but they regretted it. She should never have confessed to her mom that Brandon had pressured her to have sex. Now her parents were all like no older boys. Hadn’t she proved herself when she’d refused Brandon?

  Ben slipped his fingers under her hair and onto her
neck. She shivered. She loved it when he did that, too. He leaned down and kissed her. Oh, God. She loved that most of all. She had a feeling that it was going to be a lot harder to say no to Ben, not that he’d asked. But the way he made her feel, all tingly and gooey. This was the way it was meant to be. He was the one. She just knew it.

  When they came up for air, Trish buried her face in his chest. “I’m so glad you’re going to stay here and work on the Piney Bottoms Ranch until I graduate. I think I’d just die if you left.”

  Ben stiffened and didn’t reply.

  “What is it?” Trish sat back.

  He huffed out a big breath. “Henry and Vangie have offered to help me pay for the University of Wyoming after I get out in December.”

  Trish bit her tongue. After his dad had died the year before, Ben’s life had been in turmoil. First, juvie. Then when he got out, he’d moved in with Brandon and his mother, Donna Lewis. They’d kicked him out when Ben had provided evidence against her for conspiracy to commit murder. Donna had pled guilty and gone to jail, as she should have. Luckily for Ben, Henry and Vangie Sibley had given him a place to live, and they’d given him a job on their ranch, too. He was a semester behind at Buffalo High, but was on track to graduate mid-year, which was pretty good, considering everything.

  So, she should be happy for Ben about the college thing. He’d been planning to save up the money to pay for college himself. But Laramie was four long hours away. She’d never get to see him. He’d get lonely. What if some college girl dug her claws in him, and he forget all about her?

  She forced herself to say, “That’s, um, great, Ben.”

  He relaxed. “Yeah, they’ve been really good to me. But I’ll miss you bad.”

  Trish chewed her lip, thinking. Last year, one of the girls on her basketball team had graduated early by taking extra classes and going to summer school. Trish could do that, if she could talk her parents into it. She had the highest GPA in her class. How could they say no when she was doing so well? Her dad was already bummed that she was leaving in two years, but her mom would probably throw a party. She was constantly telling people how Trish drove her crazy.

  “What are you thinking?” Ben narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve got that look you get.”

  “What look?”

  “The one that says you’re about to throw me a curve ball.”

  “Who, me?” She batted her eyes.

  He laughed. “You, definitely.”

  “Well, I have this idea . . .”

  His eyes sparkled. “Me, too. I was thinking we could take a blanket down by the lake and watch the sun set.”

  “That would be nice. But my idea is even better.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I like the sound of that.”

  She put her hand on his chest, but suddenly felt shy and couldn’t look him in the eye. “How about I graduate early and join you in Laramie next fall? Then we’ll only be apart for a few months.”

  He frowned. “Would you still be valedictorian?”

  Why didn’t he sound excited? Her hand fell from his chest. “I don’t know.”

  “What about the cross country team? You’re just getting started, and you’re really good.” Trish had started training that spring, after she’d quit basketball. She’d loved basketball, but having a coach who tried to kill her had kind of ruined it for her. It turned out that she loved to run even more. She wasn’t fast, but she could go a long, long way. “I’ll bet by the time you’re a senior you’ll qualify for the state meet.”

  Trish jerked herself over to the passenger side of the truck. “What are you saying? Don’t you want to be together?”

  “Of course I do. But a year isn’t that long. Not if we really love each other.”

  Her voice was a wail. “It’s forever to me! But apparently it doesn’t bother you.”

  He reached for her hand, and she let him take it. “It does.”

  “Then you want me to do it?”

  “No, I mean, I don’t know.”

  Trish jerked her hand away. Heat crept up her neck, into her face and then her ears. When it had crawled into her scalp, she screamed, “Out.”

  “What?”

  “Get out of my truck. I’m going home.”

  “Trish, you’re my ride.”

  “Out!”

  “Come on, Trish. There’s no one else around out here. Don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do this? What—don’t make you walk? Or don’t graduate early so we can be together?”

  “You’re acting nuts. Can you just calm down?”

  “Get. Out. Now.”

  Ben stared at her with wide eyes for long seconds, then he shook his head and snorted. “Fine. It’s only ten miles back to the ranch from here, in cowboy boots. Maybe more. No problem.” He got out, slamming the door.

  Tears in her eyes, Trish hit the gas, which wasn’t easy in her bell bottom flare jeans and high-heeled faux Dingo boots. She sprayed gravel as she headed for the interstate. Then she remembered she hadn’t even told Ben about what had happened in Dubois. Not that it mattered anymore. He obviously didn’t love her like she loved him. He probably wouldn’t have even cared.

  Why was she so unlucky with boys?

  Chapter Six: Ride

  Park Reservoir, Bighorn National Forest, Bighorn Mountains, Wyoming

  Friday, August 12, 1977, 8:00 a.m.

  Patrick

  Patrick breathed in the fresh forest scent as he tightened Duke’s cinch strap one last time. The horse was a notorious stomach puffer, and he didn’t want Perry ending up underneath the animal’s belly. Then he looked over the sparkling water. They had parked the trucks and trailers under towering pines in a campsite at Park Reservoir, and the waterline was only twenty feet away. He turned toward Henry, a lanky rancher with a perpetual twinkle in his eye. Henry was walking from horse to horse, pushing on the saddle bags to make sure they were properly secured. Patrick continued checking gear on the rest of the horses, ending with Plug, John’s horse, a nice-looking sorrel with sleepy eyes that widened when Patrick gave the strap a pull.

  Henry sidled up to Patrick. “Pretty grim book you packed for the trip.”

  For a second, Patrick was confused, then he realized Hank must have seen him pack Horseman, Pass By in his saddle bag. “I haven’t started it. I picked it up since it’s a western.”

  “Not light reading. But that Larry McMurtry can write. Anyway, decide for yourself.” He nodded. “Last chance to back out of this ride.”

  “Why would I do that? I’ve been looking forward to it all month.”

  “Didn’t you hear what happened up on Black Tooth last week?”

  “No. I’ve been a little distracted with the Lamkin trial.”

  Henry shook his head. “Rocky Perritt, one of the Sheridan County deputies, died making the climb.”

  “A novice?”

  “Hardly. He’d summitted Black Tooth twelve times before, and he had a lot of experience rock climbing in the Tetons, too, but he fell anyway. They brought him down a few days ago. Still had on his Denver Broncos baseball cap when Search & Rescue found him, they said.”

  Patrick couldn’t help thinking that a helmet was more suitable headgear for a rock climber, but he kept it to himself. “Unlucky number thirteen. That’s terrible. But it doesn’t change my mind. We’re not rock climbing. Just trail riding and camping.”

  “Yeah. But some people are superstitious.”

  “Has it rattled you?”

  Henry grinned. “Nah. Some people doesn’t include me. But in case it comes up, I wanted you to know.”

  Patrick slapped him on the back. “Thanks.” Then he turned back to the kids and raised his voice. “Time to go. Everyone been to the bathroom? Have everything you need?”

  Patrick had packed the saddlebags himself, so he knew they all had bedrolls, rain gear, and their equal shares of camping equipment and supplies. He’d stashed the food and water on his big mount, Reno. The Percheron-Quarter horse cros
s had been improving steadily since breaking his splint bone a year before. The vet, Joe Crumpton, had declared the animal fit for the journey earlier that week—after Reno had performed well on a series of shorter rides over the last few months—shaking his head and smiling as he did so. At one point, everyone involved had been convinced Reno would be nothing more than a pasture pet for the rest of his life. The horse had proved he was made of sturdy stuff.

  Trish stood from her perch on the trailer wheel well. She hadn’t said a word since she’d gotten up that morning. Something was wrong, but Patrick would rather wrestle a mountain lion than ask her what it was. He hoped if he ignored it, she’d come around. Perry and John were skipping rocks into the reservoir, to the chagrin of several old timers fishing from the shore. The water was fifteen feet below its early-summer peak depth, due to the use of its contents for irrigation down Sheridan-way. That didn’t stop the fishermen, though.

  The two boys raced back to the trailer, galloping like colts and startling poor Plug fully awake.

  “We’re ready,” Perry said.

  “Next stop, Bighorn Reservoir, then,” Patrick said.

  “We could have just ridden up the Penrose Trail and saved an hour and a half of driving, you know,” Henry said.

  “You’re still jawing about that?” Patrick grinned. “Too many people. Not as scenic.”

  “We’d be halfway there already.”

  “Everyone’s a critic.” Patrick turned to the teenagers. “You guys have jackets, right?”

  Perry said, “Yes, sir.”

  Trish’s head moved. He took it as a nod.

  John frowned. “I didn’t bring a coat. I like it cold.” He made a muscle and laughed. The boy was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt that said Buffalo Bison Football on it.

  Patrick had an extra flannel shirt packed away. If worse came to worst, he’d give the boy his own coat and tough it out in the flannel. “It can get mighty cold up there, even in August. You can borrow mine, if you need it.”