Chapter Nine
May 15
Tara was barely able to contain her excitement as she followed Harper up the Prater Canyon trail. The late-morning temperature was in the fifties, but the sky was blue, the sun warming her as they hiked the evergreen-clothed canyon. Up ahead, she could see snow-clad Prater Mountain, one of the taller ones in the Salt River chain. She wore her heavy denim coat, a bright blue knapsack on her back, plus gloves to keep her fingers warm. Right now, she appreciated the warmth of a knit cap over her head and ears. She had a hiking stick in her hand.
Harper, walking at her side, seemed impervious to the chill and was wearing a dark blue baseball cap that had US Navy embroidered on the front of it. He, too, carried a knapsack on his shoulders, as well as a hiking stick. The ground was thawing and so their heavy, thick-treaded boots were picking up the mud. This was a well-used, popular trail, one she’d hiked many times as a child and teenager. He carried a .30-06 rifle on his left shoulder because grizzlies were everywhere, and no one wanted to suddenly confront one and then get killed by it. The rifle was there as a precaution; Tara knew Harper didn’t want to kill a bear either. But at this time of year grizzlies were hungry after coming out of hibernation.
The day was incredible, the air fresh and cool, a blue jay in the distance squawking its warning that people were coming down the trail and into the deep canyon. She had her Canon camera around her neck, a 200mm lens on it. She hoped to see elk or deer, but it was pretty late in the morning for that. These animals were nocturnal and, by dawn, were usually bedded down to sleep during the day. Still, Tara held out hope of spotting one or two. Maybe even a fawn because this was the time of year when they were born.
The area was alive with life, birds flitting around them, nest-building materials in their bills, swooping up into the tall pine trees near the edge of the flat, open canyon floor.
Drawing in a deep breath, Tara had never been happier. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d kissed Harper. And he’d been so busy between taking classes at the college and getting his wrangler duties done around the Bar C that they’d had little time to sit down and talk at length. Today, he told her, they were going to get that time together or else. Tara had laughed, but she’d agreed. Her life was ratcheting up, too.
Last week, she’d loved going back to Jilly’s Wedding Shop in Jackson Hole to have Kira help them choose the bridesmaids’ gowns they’d wear for the wedding on June 16. Maud Whitcomb was there and insisted on paying for them. It was a wonderful gift, and they’d hugged the hell out of her for her continuing generosity.
Kira loved lavender and, fortunately, so did she, Dair and Shay. She was pleased that the dress design chosen was something she could wear after the wedding. The knee-length dress would be available should she want to wear it after that. Harper had seen a photo of it from her cell phone, but the dresses wouldn’t be ready until the end of May. The material was real silk, and Tara had marveled at the velvety quality of it. It felt good against her fingertips. Maud lauded the praises of silk to all of them, saying it was wonderful to wear. Tara wouldn’t know. About all she’d ever worn was cotton or polyester fabrics. Silk cost too much and her mother was practical. Silk wasn’t something she could ride in, or do barn work or anything else.
The look in Harper’s eyes when he’d studied the cell-phone photo of the dress had made her smile. He liked it for a lot of other reasons, she suspected. Was sex on her mind? Oh, yes. She’d enjoyed the stolen moments when they kissed. It wasn’t often enough, but Tara understood. They were too busy, there were too many demands from their jobs and his intensive college program. She was so glad when Harper had suggested this morning that they take off and go for a hike, have lunch at the old cabin above Prater Canyon and talk at length with each other.
Tara was so focused on her thoughts that she nearly ran into Harper. He’d stopped and was pointing to the right. There, along a group of pines, were three elk mothers with their babies.
She grinned a thanks to him, quickly lifting her Canon and took some shots. And then she took some more because the mothers and their babies didn’t duck back into the dark, shadowy pines to hide.
Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Why do you think they’re out at this time of day?”
“Grizzly,” he murmured, eyes squinted, looking down the canyon where the elk had come from. “They’ve just come out of hibernation. They’re hungry and they know there are fawns around to be eaten.”
Grimacing, Tara said, “These babies are so cute. I hate the idea some of them might be killed by a bear.”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s survival of the fittest and you know that better than most. You grew up in this valley.”
“I try to avoid thinking of those things,” she murmured, kneeling in the wet grass, focusing on a tiny baby trailing her mama.
Lifting the cap from his head, Harper said, “I know. You’re a big softy, Ms. Dalton.”
Her lips lifted as she kept the camera focused. “I just don’t like killing.”
“And you were in combat. Does that figure?”
His teasing made her pull the camera away from her eye. Looking up, she felt the warmth of his look cascading around her. “No, it doesn’t. I’m glad to be back home, Harper. I never liked killing and I never will. I didn’t join the military to kill. Defend our country? Absolutely. But not to kill if I could avoid it.”
He leaned over, caressing her shoulder. “Anyone in their right mind doesn’t want to kill another human being, so you have lots of company on that one.”
Her gaze fastened on his mouth and her entire lower body went hot with need. Did Harper realize just how sexy he was? Tara didn’t think so. He wasn’t a braggart, arrogant or pushy like so many men. “I haven’t met a vet yet who doesn’t agree that peace is the answer. Anyone who’s gone into combat sees what war does. There are better answers than killing one another.”
“Hey,” he said, lifting his gloved finger, “take a look down there, about a tenth of a mile behind those elk.”
Swinging her head, she stood, frowning. There was a cinnamon-colored grizzly sniffing and following the small group. “Damn,” she muttered. “I was hoping to avoid this.”
Harper came to stand next to her, pulling the rifle off his shoulder, locking and loading it. “Me too, but it’s spring. They’re starving and they need to eat, so they’re going to smell out where the elk are laying down for the day and try to kill one of their fawns.”
Tara was no stranger to grizzlies, and Harper seemed to understand a lot about bear activity. “You’ve seen one this close before?”
“Yes, on horseback. I was riding fence line last spring and fixing a downed section when a huge male, about eight hundred pounds, popped out of the woods. Scared the living hell out of me,” and he hefted the rifle into position so it was ready to use in case the grizzly charged them.
“What did you do?”
“I carried a pistol on me. Bears have lousy eyesight. I wasn’t sure he saw me as much as he saw my horse, probably thinking it was his meal. I fired off three shots and the sound scared him and he hightailed it back into the woods.”
“Might have to do it with this one,” Tara said, taking photos of the approaching bear.
“That bear will eat four-legged before he’ll think about a two-legged meal,” Harper said. “Come on; time to move to the other side of the canyon. I don’t want to spook the grizzly, but I also don’t want to be standing where we are now. That’s way too close.”
Tara agreed, quickly moving with him. Harper put her in front of him, bringing up the rear, his gaze always on the approaching grizzly. She saw the bear was trailing the scent of the elk mother and didn’t seem to be looking around, his focus on getting food for his shrunken belly. She saw the elk begin to trot up the canyon, the fawns running to keep up. Above all, she didn’t want to see that grizzly kill one of the babies. She couldn’t stand to see it. Hurrying, she lengthened her stride. Harper kept up with her easily, staying at her left shoulder, the rifle ready in case they needed it.
Remaining silent, Tara tossed a quick glance over her shoulder; the grizzly was probably about three hundred yards from them. That was only six hundred feet. A bear could run at twenty-five miles an hour and cover that distance in a heartbeat. She heard Harper place a round in the chamber of the rifle, flicking off the safety. He, too, knew that the bear, should it decide they were his meal, would be on top of them in a blink of a human’s eye. Quite literally. They were that fast, that nimble and quick.
“Keep moving,” Harper said in a low tone. “The bear’s still on the elk’s scent. In a moment he’s going to smell our scent. I don’t know what he’ll do . . .”
“We have bear spray, Harper.”
“I know, but I’m not willing to risk our lives on spray if that bear charges us.”
She heard the grim determination in his voice. “We should stop if he decides to come toward us.”
“Yes. You stay behind me. I’ll shoot.”
Tara knew that if a grizzly charged, the first one was usually a feint. The second charge was for real. And there was no way to read the animal’s mind to know if he would feint on the first charge or not. She risked a glance over her shoulder again, seeing the tension and focus in Harper’s face as his gaze tracked the bear’s trek. He was coming up on where they had been standing near the path the elk had taken.
The grizzly halted, woofing and turning around in a larger circle.
“He’s picked up our scent,” Harper warned in a low tone.
Tara heard the disappointment in his voice. “Should we stop?”
“Not yet; he’s still sniffing. He’s not sure what he’s picking up.”
“He can still see the elk ahead of him.”
“Yeah. As bad as his eyesight is, I’m hoping he’ll leave our scent alone and go after something he knows for sure. He’s acting as if he doesn’t know the scent of us.”
“Good.”
“Let’s stop.”
Her heart started a slow bang in her chest. She stood near Harper’s left side because if he had to shoot, he’d be using his right arm. There was no way she wanted to impede him getting a bead on the grizzly because he’d only have a few seconds to lift that rifle and sight the bruin. The bear moved in a circle once more. Then he lifted his nose, whuffing and sniffing loudly into the cold air.
“The wind is in our favor,” Tara said quietly to Harper. “It’s blowing toward us. We’re upwind of him. He won’t catch our scent.” She saw Harper barely nod his head, his gaze riveted on the animal less than a thousand feet from where they stood. It was way too close, and Tara swallowed against a tightening throat.
Suddenly, the bear rose up on its hind legs, ten feet tall, looking directly at them.
“Oh, God,” Tara choked.
“Don’t move . . .”
She remained frozen. It was well known that if a person tried to walk or run away from a grizzly, it would charge. The only thing they could do was remain like statues, unmoving. If they tried to turn to run, the bear would think them quarry and swiftly catch up to them, killing them. It brought back all the terror and anxiety that combat had caused her.
Tara didn’t move, wondering if she was going to die. That thought alone made her want to cry out because she’d just met Harper a short time ago. They had something good going between them. She wanted the time to get to know him, herself and deepen their relationship.
The bear lifted his nose, snorting and then inhaling.
Tara could feel a breeze against her face. “The bear might not be able to see us,” she squeaked, her voice off.
“. . . Maybe . . .”
The grizzly stood up so he could see more of the area where they were. Tara knew he was looking for movement. They remained statue still. Her heart was banging away in her throat. The sound was so loud, she couldn’t hear anything else, adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream.
Without warning, the grizzly suddenly dropped to all fours, and charged toward them.
Tara didn’t even have time to shout a warning.
Harper jammed the rifle into his shoulder.
The huge, booming sound made Tara’s ears ache. She winced, stepping backward, her gaze on the charging bear. It happened so fast!
The grizzly dropped, it’s front feet collapsing, his wide, wedge-shaped head plowing into the thick, green grass. His huge body was still moving forward. The animal flipped, went into a slow-motion roll and then flopped out on its belly. All four of his legs splayed outward.
Tara made another squeaking sound of disbelief as the bear collapsed fifty feet in front of them. The animal had been so fast, she didn’t think she’d been able to blink twice.
Harper kept the rifle up, finger on the trigger, tensely watching the bear. There were several jerking movements, but he didn’t get up again. His gaze snapped to the bear’s flanks, watching for his breathing. Because if he was still breathing, that meant the bear could rise and come at them again. He kept a bead on the head of the bruin, where he’d buried the first bullet.
Tara gulped. “Is he dead?” She anxiously watched the bear.
“Give it another half minute,” Harper replied in a rough voice, his rifle sighted.
“I wish he hadn’t charged,” Tara whispered, tears burning her eyes. “I hate killing anything.”
“So do I, Tara. This couldn’t be helped. I’m sorry . . .”
She reached out, barely touching his shoulder, not wanting to destroy his line of sight on the bear. “I know how much you love wildlife. You’re not a hunter. You’re a fisherman.”
“Yeah,” he said, slowly lowering the rifle, still watching the unmoving bear. “I don’t like killing anything . . .”
He was a medic. Harper saved lives, he didn’t take them. Although she knew combat medics did carry weapons and would kill if attacked or their team was under fire. It was in his DNA to save lives, though, and as she slowly walked around his left side, she saw the suffering in his eyes. He’d hated killing the grizzly, too.
“We need to call the Forest Service up in Jackson Hole,” she said, pulling out her cell phone. “This has to be reported.”
Nodding, Harper said, “Just wait a moment. I need to go check to make sure he’s dead. He wasn’t wearing a tracking collar either.”
Most of the grizzlies in the Teton National Park and at Yellowstone had been tranquilized and had a radio collar fitted around their necks so the rangers could keep tabs on their whereabouts. “No, this bear isn’t wearing one.” She reached out, gripping his upper left arm. “Be careful, Harper. Grizzlies have been known, even after being shot, to bite or take a swipe at hunters.”
“Shay warned me about that first thing when I came to the Bar C a year ago,” he said. “I’ll be careful. You stay where you’re at.”
“I won’t move. I promise.” Some of the adrenaline was leaving her and she was beginning to feel the crash that always came afterward. “I’ll wait to call the rangers.”
“Yes, let me check the bear out . . .”
“Be careful, Harper . . . please?”
“Promise . . .”
Approaching such a huge animal, knowing how dangerous it was, Tara didn’t want Harper to go near the bear. She knew he had to. The whole day they’d planned had gone south. They would have to report this to the Forest Service and then wait here until a ranger came to take their statement, take photos and then get the grizzly removed. Harper wouldn’t be charged with killing a bear. This had been about protecting their lives and the rangers would understand that.
Harper approached from the rear of the bear, watching carefully for any sign of breathing. Tara understood his being cautious in approaching the bruin. She could see blood leaking out of a hole in the animal’s head, still feeling badly that they’d had to take its life. But if they hadn’t, one or both of them would have been mauled, bitten or possibly killed. Grizzlies were well known to go after hikers if they ran.
Leaning down, Harper remained at one end of the bear. He slung the rifle across his shoulder, placing his large hand on the bear’s foot, pulling at it a little to see if it moved. It didn’t. Moving to the center of the bear, he placed his hand on its thick fur, feeling for breathing.
Tara watched the hardness in Harper’s face. Was this what he looked like in combat? There was no sign of weakness in his expression, his gray eyes so pale they reminded her of an eagle tracking its quarry. There was tension in him, but he moved soundlessly, working his way forward toward the bear’s massive hump and shoulders. He’d stop, place his hand on top of the fur, press down, still trying to feel for any breath sounds. There was such a thing as a limbic action of the bear’s brain that could still react, even if it was dead, for minutes afterward. Tara knew Harper was very aware of that possibility, which was why he’d started at the rear of the bruin and was quietly and slowly working his way forward toward the head.
By the time he leaned forward from the bear’s neck, placing his hand on his head, the animal’s eyes were glazed and unblinking, Tara knew the grizzly was dead. Harper made a point of not getting within range of the bear’s massive front paws and those five-inch curved claws it had. He straightened and moved back a good six feet from the bear before looking over at her.
“Go ahead and call the Forest Service.”
She nodded and made the call. Harper came around the bear and talked with the supervisor from the Teton National Park, telling him what had just transpired. Then the bear would be taken away, checked by the Forest Service and a thorough forensics study performed on it.
Clicking off the phone, she said, “How are you doing?” His eyes were still nearly clear and Tara realized that when he felt in danger, the color changed. She knew that when he looked at her, desiring her, his eyes became a darker, smoky gray color.
“Feeling bad I had to kill the bear,” he muttered, giving the animal a look of regret. “I was hoping he wouldn’t get riled up over our scent, but he did.”
“I thought for sure he’d follow the elk and try to kill one of the babies.”
He slid his left arm around her waist, easing her around and away from the bear. “I had a bad feeling about it.”
“That gut intuition?” she asked, leaning into him, wrapping her arm around his waist, wanting his closeness, his protectiveness.
“Yes. Having PTSD comes in handy sometimes, doesn’t it?” he joked, cocking his head in her direction, holding her gaze.
“Yes, but most people aren’t going to run into a hungry grizzly,” she murmured. Squeezing him, she said, “I’m feeling so sad for the bear. I know you had to take him out, but I wish he’d made a different choice.”
Shaking his head, Harper led her to the other side of the canyon. “We all make choices all the time, Tara. The bear was no different. It just wasn’t the right one for him today.”
Hearing the heaviness, the thick emotions barely concealed in his tone, Tara pressed her brow against his shoulder, wanting to comfort him. “You’re a good shot.”
“I’d better be. We had one bullet standing between him and us.”
The derision in his tone was partly black humor, and Tara realized it was his way of starting to let down from the incident. She slowed as he eased the strap of the rifle off his shoulder and placed it against a nearby pine tree. Shrugging out of her pack, she leaned it against the trunk. Harper did the same. He lifted his cap, rubbed his hair and then grimaced, looking back at the bear.
“Hey,” Tara called softly, coming around, facing him, sliding her arms around his shoulders, “come here.” She hugged him, burying her face in the column of his neck, tightening her arms around him. The tension in Harper was palpable as she aligned herself against him. For a split second, he froze. And then she heard him groan her name, sweeping his arms around her so tightly the air whooshed out of her lungs. He pressed his face into her hair, clinging to her.
Sensitized to him, Tara felt a deep quiver within him, felt as if he wanted to cry, scream or shout out his regret over having to take the life of such a beautiful wild animal. Harper wasn’t a killer and never had been. Her closed eyes filled with tears as he kissed her hair, holding her so tightly, as if to breathe her into himself, to hold her forever.
Her heart opened wide and she relaxed, allowing herself to melt into him, to let him hold her as tightly as he needed. For an instant, Tara almost felt as if she were like a life preserver to him and if he released her, he would be lost forever. It was such a deep, eviscerating realization that it shocked her. Harper had never been needy. Even now, she wouldn’t say that he was. But emotionally? Yes, he needed her, needed some comfort, needed that moment where life was stronger than death. Tara understood that more than most because she’d been in combat. She’d seen people killed and injured. She understood that perhaps Harper was in the middle of a flashback to a time when such a thing had happened to his team. Never had a man held her as tightly as he did right now.
Even through her sadness, she thought she understood what was going on within him, and joy rose in her heart, warmth spreading through her chest. She tightened her arms around him, silently letting him know she was there for him. That he could lean on her when he needed to. And that was the exact sense Tara was feeling from Harper. She wished they were alone. She would kiss him, hold him, make him feel better, not worse. New tendrils slowly opened within her heart. She recognized those fragile new feelings. She was falling in love with Harper.