Nella
“Who are you?”
I never expected that to be the first thing out of my sister’s mouth, or the blank expression on her face when she turned her eyes on me.
“Sure you’re okay?” Fletch asks for the umpteenth time since leaving the hospital.
“I’m fine,” I snap irritably.
Except, I’m not. Not by a long shot.
It had been closing in on noon when Pippa finally started showing signs of stirring and by the time she answered a few basic questions by the doctor coherently, my heart was soaring and my eyes leaking. But then she turned her head and looked at me without the slightest hint of recognition. She also had no clue where she was, what happened to her, or what she was doing in Montana. She recognized she was in a hospital, knew her name, her date of birth, and that she was Canadian, and that was it. She couldn’t even recall the calendar year.
I could see the panic in her eyes as she tried to remember and it killed me. I couldn’t help myself and filled in the gaps for her, which only got her more agitated. Dr. Osborne kindly but firmly led me from the room and into his office, where he sat me down and suggested perhaps it was better to give Pippa some time to get her bearings. He assured me she was doing well physically, that memory loss is not unusual and often resolves itself with time, but that stress could hamper that recovery.
Then he sent me home.
Fletch jumped up when I walked into the waiting room and although I’m grateful for his concern, I almost wished he hadn’t come. It wasn’t easy to tell him Pippa has no idea who I am, and when he tried to wrap me in his arms, I quickly turned for the exit.
If I give in to any show of kindness now, I will crumble. The one person I have left in this entire big world—who loves me as I am and always has my back—doesn’t know I exist. I’m terrified. What if she never remembers?
The deep ache in my chest makes it difficult to breathe. I need to get back to the cabin, grab my van, and find something to keep me busy before I have a full-fledged panic attack.
Fletch pulls his truck up in front of my cabin and before the wheels have stopped rolling, I already have the door open.
“At least fucking wait until I stop,” he grumbles, jerking the vehicle in park as he throws a glare my way.
“Sorry, I’ve gotta go,” I mutter, as I get out of the cab.
“What’s the hurry?”
“I thought I’d do some shopping,” I lie, but add as an afterthought. “I appreciate you coming with me to the hospital. Maybe there’s still time for you to go hunting?”
When he doesn’t respond, I toss him a forced smile and rush to the front door, throwing a final look right before I’m about to go inside. He’s standing in front of his truck, glaring at me. Oddly enough I’d rather have this grumpy version of him than the warm-eyed, caring one I’ve seen glimpses of. It’s so tempting to let myself lean on him, but I can’t. In the end I’ll just have myself to depend on anyway.
Tearing my eyes from his strong, handsome face, I head inside and shut the door behind me, leaning my back against it. It takes me another few minutes after I hear his truck drive away to get my breathing under control. Then I grab my computer bag, snag my car keys, and head straight back out the door.
Bean There is a small coffee shop I spotted on the main drag in Libby. The sign outside boasted Wi-Fi so I pulled into the parking lot.
I found a quiet table in the far corner, away from foot traffic walking up to the counter. I sip the latte the young barista made me as I look around. It’s a cute place, trendy, and looks to be popular judging by the steady flow of people walking in. Mostly for takeout, though, only a few tables are occupied.
No one appears to be paying me much attention as I pull out my laptop and turn it on, logging into the network listed on a blackboard over the counter.
I’d formulated a plan on my drive into town; to find my sister’s motorhome. It’s been her home for a while and all she owns in this world is in that rig. I’m hoping if I can locate it, there’ll be something among her possessions that might trigger her memory. It’s farfetched, I know, but it’s not like I have anything better to do.
Trying to put myself in the shoes of the thieves, I imagine they’d want to sell her motorhome quickly. Online seems to be the most logical place for that so I’m checking any ‘For Sale’ listings for a 2018 Jayco Redhawk as I jot down information I find on a notepad.
I’m so focused I don’t notice the barista walking over to my table.
“Can I get you a refill?”
I startle and look up at her before she redirects my attention to my empty coffee cup.
“That would be lovely, thank you.” I’ll probably be awake most of the night, but right now I don’t care.
“Anything to eat? We have muffins, a few Danish, or a sandwich. I make a pretty good chicken salad sandwich, if I say so myself.”
She smiles hopefully and I don’t have the heart to say no. I should probably eat something anyway; it looks like I missed lunch completely. The earlier rush of customers seems to have slowed down.
“Chicken salad sounds delicious.”
“Coming right up.”
As she returns to the counter, I look over my notes. So far, I’ve found three Jayco Redhawks for sale in and around Libby, but only one listed as a 2018 model. The pictures with that last listing didn’t look like my sister’s though, but from what I’ve noticed these ads often use generic images. It could still be hers.
Hundreds more of them show up for sale, but not necessarily locally. I realize just because it was stolen here doesn’t mean they’ll try to sell it around here as well. In fact, now that I think about it, that might actually make more sense. It’s only a few hours’ drive to Canada or into Idaho.
Geeze, I may have bit off a little more than I can chew.
I remember the sheriff mentioning some other stolen RVs. Maybe I should go have a talk with him, see if he’ll tell me if they have any leads, although I doubt he’d be willing to share. I’m equally sure he won’t be happy if I’m sticking my nose into his investigation, but I figure I can pose as an interested buyer. No one would have reason to question me and I might get more answers than when a sheriff’s deputy or police officer showed up. Besides, the sheriff doesn’t need to know what I’m doing in my spare time.
It would help to know the model names for any of the other stolen RVs. Maybe I can track down my sister’s if I manage to find one of the others.
“Here you go.”
I shove my laptop aside to make room for my lunch. It looks amazing and I tell her so.
“Thank you,” she says, clearly pleased.
I glance at the name tag on her shirt before responding.
“Well, Kaylie, if it tastes anywhere near as good as it looks, I should be thanking you.”
She glances at the screen of my open laptop and her eyes light up.
“Are you looking for an RV? You should go see my uncle. He has an RV place right up the road. Sells new and used ones,” she offers.
That would almost be too easy, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.
“Really? I’d love to go have a look.”
“It’s called Rick’s RVs—that’s my uncle’s name—he does repairs and stuff too.”
I jot the name down on my notepad. Perhaps I’ll drop in there after I stop by the sheriff’s office.
Fletch
The big ram lifts his head and appears to be looking right at me.
I bypassed a few smaller ones in the valley below. They would’ve been easy pickings but there would’ve been no sport in that. No, I was determined to hold out for a more mature ram. One a bit more experienced detecting a threat and would require some skill to take down.
I’d just made my way on top of the ridge when I noticed him standing apart from a small herd of about ten or eleven bighorn. Most of them are bedded down, but the big ram is still up and clearly alert.
Bighorn sheep have keen eyesight, so I stay as still as I can. He’s a few hundred yards from where I’m crouched down, so I wouldn’t have a shot at him at this distance anyway. The sheep are predictable though. Creatures of habit who will follow the same migratory path and use the same bedding spots to rest for generations. Meaning even if I can’t bag that ram today, I’ll likely find this herd right back here tomorrow when they go down for an afternoon nap.
I’ll wait them out and try to get a little closer when I have a chance. By the time they go look for food at dusk again, I’ll be in a better position to take a shot at the big guy.
This is a good distraction and I needed it, because that thing with Nella earlier was fucked up.
I went with her to offer support should she need it, but then when she did, she practically ignored me. Granted, having her sister wake up and not recognize her must’ve been a shock and I get she needs some time to process, but she could’ve just said that instead of pretending all is fine when obviously it’s not.
Pissed me right off, her handing me that fake little polite smile as she lied to my face. I’m fine, my ass. It’s killing her, and the kicker is, it’s killing me to know that and not be able to do anything about it.
Hunting seemed like a good idea, given there are just three more days left on my tag. I just wish I could stop thinking about what she might be up to, and enjoy what I’m doing.
The big ram finally settles in with the herd and I start inching my way closer, while making sure to be quiet and stay out of sight.
It’s not an easy route; I have to slide down a cliff, try not to knock loose any rocks, and traverse a few protruding boulders on my way to the bottom. There I manage to stay under the cover of the sparse trees, crawling low to the ground when I move from one to the next, and every so often I peek out at the herd to see if they noticed me.
So far so good, but in order to get a decent shot off I have to be within twenty-five or so yards and their bedding area is at least forty yards from the last tree I’m sitting under. Still, dusk is setting in and I’ll miss my shot if I don’t try to get closer.
Going down on my stomach, I belly-crawl another ten or so yards before peeking over the brush again. I find the large ram with his head up, staring right back at me and I freeze.
Fuck.
A magnificent animal, his nostrils flare as he tests the air for scent and I notice his ears scanning for sound. Staying absolutely still is something that comes as second nature to me, but after a while even my muscles start cramping. So when he finally turns his head in another direction and gets to his feet, I let out a breath of relief.
Following the large ram’s lead, the rest of the herd stands up and I use the distraction to line up my bow, keeping an eye on my target. I would’ve liked to have been another five to ten feet closer, but beggars can’t be choosers and I figure this may be the best shot I’ll get.
I wait until the ram makes a hard right turn and starts moving straight west from my position. I have a good view of his left shoulder and flank.
Then I take in a breath, hold it, and release my arrow.
It’s almost ten when I finally pull up to my cabin and notice Nella’s van is parked outside hers, but all the lights are off.
I did the best I could out in the field by the waning light. Normally I might’ve called in some help to carry the entire ram out, but it was already getting late and I decided to take only what I would use. It took me a couple of trips to carry out just the meat and the head. I left the rest of the carcass where he fell for the predators to take care of. It’ll be gone in no time. I have no interest in trophies and only carried out the head because I need to present it at the game warden’s office. I did take some pictures before I started field dressing, in case the warden has questions. The meat I stored in the two large coolers I have under the tarp in the back of my truck.
Luckily with the sun down the temperature dropped significantly as well, but I’d still like to get the coolers into the spare bedroom where I can run the window AC to make sure it stays under thirty-seven degrees. It’s not an ideal situation, but it’ll do until I can hang the meat to age in the breeding barn in the morning. We have a cold room to store the sperm we collect that sometimes doubles as a meat locker, but the place is locked tight for the night. Believe it or not, horse sperm is valuable and there is a thriving black market for the stuff.
I’m not the only one who brings home game from time to time and Jonas doesn’t mind us using the breeding barn to hang the meat. Proper aging makes all the difference in taste, and I plan to leave it hanging for about ten days before I process and pack it for the freezer.
“I see you got one?”
I look up to see Sully approach as I pull the first cooler from the back of the truck.
“Yeah. I’m guessing somewhere between two seventy-five and three hundred,” I inform him.
“Nice.” He grabs one side of the cooler and helps me carry it inside. “I was wondering where you’d gone when I saw her after dinner,” he nudges toward Nella’s cabin. “I figured you’d be together.”
“No.”
I can feel his eyes on me but I’m not about to elaborate.
“How’s the sister?” he changes the subject.
We set the cooler down under the window unit and I turn it on high. Then we head out for the second one.
“Awake, but she seems to have trouble remembering anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Her name and birthday but that’s about it. She didn’t even recognize Nella.”
“Damn, that must’ve been tough on her.”
I ignore the pang of guilt as we haul the second cooler down.
“Yeah. She needed some time to process.”
“And you went hunting?’
I can clearly hear the disbelief and accusation in Sully’s voice and my defenses go up instantly. I lower my side of the cooler on the porch before turning on him.
“Not that it’s any of your fucking business but she asked me to. She didn’t want me around so I went.”
The asshole raises an eyebrow, shakes his head, and easily lifts the entire cooler by himself, brushing past me as he walks inside.
My temper flaring, I want to plant my fist in his face, but I opt for the doorpost instead. It turns out to be a lot less forgiving.
“Fuck!”