A PERFECT EVENING, with the last daylight falling over the mountain, and a half-moon blooming in the faded sky. A gentle, quiet breeze brushed the ground and cooled what remained of the day’s heat. The pine trees all around swayed and sighed. Vicky spread the blanket Cutter had brought, smoothing out the wrinkles, as if it were the cover on a bed, while Cutter built a fire. He was quick and adept in the way he mounded the wood chips he’d collected among the trees, rolled up sheets of a newspaper and stuffed them among the chips, then held a match to the paper. The little fire sputtered and licked at the chips, and Cutter laid logs on top, propping them at an angle so as not to cut off the oxygen.
Vicky moved the picnic basket onto the blanket and sat down. She pulled her knees to her chest and clasped her hands around her legs, watching Cutter. Every movement smooth and controlled, as if he had been building campfires all his life. He was an expert. An expert at a lot of things, she was beginning to think. Today he’d accepted the offer of a job with Fowler Oil in Casper, but he would be working in the oil fields on the rez, supervising and managing. He had come home, and he planned to stay.
She had been winding up the day at the office. Annie and Roger had already left when the phone rang. Ruth, wondering where Cutter was. “I have no idea,” Vicky had told her. She had just hung up when there he was, standing in the doorway between her office and Annie’s, the beveled-glass doors swung back. “Ruth’s trying to reach you,” she had told him. Information he seemed to ignore as he strode into her office and plopped a small ice chest on her desk. “We’re going on a picnic,” he announced.
No, Cutter. No. No. Too much to do this evening. An important custody hearing coming up. Absolutely not.
Cutter Walking Bear had waved away each objection. She had to eat, or had she given up eating? It was beautiful in the mountains. He would have her back by nine o’clock. Promise.
She had given in. A change of scenery, change of schedule sounded good. She had been working hard lately, worrying over Robert’s death and the anonymous caller, worrying over Ruth, trying to pull together compelling arguments in favor of Luke Wolf’s claim that he was not a neglectful parent. “I have to go home and change,” she had said.
Fine, and Cutter would come with her. She had put up one hand. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot at my apartment in thirty minutes.”
He had been waiting, leaning against the front of a ratty old pickup the color of mustard. His pickup was in the shop, he’d explained, a small fender bender today. He had a loaner. “I’m not sure it can make it to the mountains,” he’d said. She had offered to take her Ford. It hadn’t surprised her when she saw that Cutter had already stashed the cooler, a brown grocery bag, and folded blankets in the back of the Ford. It was all part of Cutter, making the world turn in his direction.
Now he sat back on his heels and admired the fire he’d built. “We’re going to appreciate the heat when the sun goes down,” he said. It was true, Vicky was thinking. The temperature could drop twenty degrees in what seemed like seconds after the sun disappeared behind the mountains.
“What will you have, my lady?” Cutter jumped to his feet, pulled the grocery bag over, and opened the ice chest. “Beer? I brought a bottle of chardonnay.” He was extracting little plastic glasses from the bag.
“Water? Soda?” She didn’t drink alcohol. In the years with Ben Holden, he had drunk enough alcohol for both of them. He had drunk her lifetime share.
Cutter laughed. “Should have spotted you for a water-soda gal. So what is it? You buy into the old stereotype that Indians can’t handle alcohol? Never been a problem for me.”
Vicky didn’t reply. It was a problem for Luke trying to regain visitation rights with his son, a problem for clients charged with DUIs.
“Coke?” He popped the lid and handed her the can. “Hope you like fried chicken and french fries because they are on the menu tonight.” He pulled two white Styrofoam boxes from the brown bag and a wad of napkins. Everything arranged, tied down before he had appeared in her office and mentioned the picnic. Before she had agreed to come with him. Vicky felt an uncomfortable prickling sensation on her skin. Was she that transparent, that lonely?
The chicken and fries were still warm, spicy and tasty. The fire crackled and spit, and Vicky scooted back a few inches. Cutter came with her, one knee leaning out, touching hers. “Heard any more from the anonymous caller?”
Vicky chewed a bite of chicken a moment. “What makes you ask?”
“The fed’s questioning the cousins and anybody that knew Robert. I figure he’s still investigating Robert’s death because of the guy that called you.” She felt the pressure of Cutter’s fingers wrapping around her wrist, holding her hand suspended over a piece of chicken. “Any idea of who made the call?”
“What difference does it make?”
Cutter took his hand away. “I understand client confidentiality. If he’s a client, you can’t talk about it. Thing is, people are on edge, wondering when some anonymous caller might accuse them of murder. Gianelli takes the whole thing seriously. Looks like the investigation will never be finished. It’s not fair to Ruth or to any of the cousins. Long as the investigation goes on, the rumors go on. Everybody thinks Robert actually found a treasure, so now people want to know what happened to it. Whole thing has gotten out of hand. I thought . . .”
Cutter paused. He finished a beer, squashed the can, and threw it into the bag. Then he pulled another beer out of the ice chest.
“You thought what?”
“You could call your client off. He’s a liar, trying to cause trouble. Some kind of sociopath angling for attention now that everybody’s thinking about Robert and poor Ruth.”
Vicky took a long drink of Coke and another bite of chicken, aware of Cutter’s eyes on her. The air was thick with anticipation. She tried to figure out what he wanted. The name of the caller? She didn’t know who the caller was. Somehow even telling him that the caller was not a client seemed like a breach of confidentiality.
“Why would someone claim he saw Robert murdered if he hadn’t?”
“Because he’s crazy, Vicky. I’m trying to tell you he’s crazy, and if you have anything to do with the guy, you should be careful. I’m worried about you.”
Vicky ate the last of the chicken that she wanted and closed the box. “Who else might have gone treasure hunting with Robert? If he took you along, he could have taken someone else. Maybe several people.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Gianelli. I don’t know the answer. I didn’t know Robert all that well. Only reason I agreed to go along on those crazy hunts was to get to know him. Let me tell you, hiking around steep mountainsides, climbing over boulders was not my idea of fun.”
“Maybe he took other cousins. What about Dallas Spotted Deer or Bernie and her husband?”
“I doubt it. They wanted Robert’s map, and there was no way he was going to let them get close to it.”
“Why you, Cutter? Why did Robert let you get close?”
“I have no idea.” He squashed the second beer can, took another out of the cooler, and popped the lid. Foam and beer sloshed onto the blanket. “Could be because he knew I didn’t want anything. The whole idea of buried treasure was a crock, you ask me. I didn’t care about any old map.” He put his head back and drained part of the can. “Old, rotten map and buried treasure that never existed! Robert was going nuts, you ask me.”
“What do you think happened?”
“What?”
“At the lake.”
Cutter leaned back on his elbows and stared up at the sky. A silver-gray now, stars everywhere, and the moon bright and low hanging. The crickets had worked themselves up into full throttle, and the breeze made a hushed noise in the pines. The fire had died back to a warm glow. “He liked the lake. I picture him tromping along the shore, stooping down to splash some water in his face, trying to cool off. Lost his footing and fell in. There’s a steep drop-off, and he must’ve fallen headfirst into the deep part. Upended him, the way I see it. He couldn’t regain his balance and pull himself up and out of the water. Accident, only the fed refuses to believe it so long as that crazy caller keeps stirring things up.” He paused. “What did the caller say happened?”
Vicky shook her head. “You never give up, do you?” She was trying for a lighter tone that masked the uneasiness she felt. They were alone, she and Cutter, darkness falling over the mountains, the nearest campsites a mile away.
Cutter sat back up. “Why are we talking about a dead guy when we’re alive and the night is ours and it’s beautiful.” She could feel the warmth of his arm slipping around her shoulders, drawing her to him. “From now on, let’s talk about us. You and me, Vicky. We’re a great pair. It’s like I came home to find you. And, well . . .” He hesitated before pushing on. “You’ve been here all this time waiting for me.”
“Oh, Cutter.” She tried to pull away, but he was holding her close. She could feel his heart beating beneath his plaid shirt, strong and steady. “We don’t know anything about each other.” Her own voice sounded muffled against his shirt, and she managed to push herself back and face him. “We have to take things slowly.”
“I don’t like slowly. I see what I want, I go for it.” He gave a little laugh. “It might take you a little longer, but you will come around, I promise you.”
Vicky started to her feet, and he pulled her back. He was on her then, kissing her, pressing her against the hard ground. “Take a chance on us,” he whispered. “Be brave, Vicky. Be brave.”
She managed to scramble away and jump to her feet. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. What difference would it make if she and this handsome, take-charge man made love next to the campfire? Who would care? Except there was something about him—unknown and yet familiar, something reminiscent of Ben Holden, so handsome and always in control. “I’d like to leave now,” she said.
“We’ll leave later. When I say so.” He reached up, grabbed her hand, and pulled her back onto the blanket. “You have to learn to trust me, Vicky.” His lips were warm and moist against her face and neck. “Trust me. I’m the best thing for you. We’ll be good together.”
She tried to push away again, but his chest was hard and stationary. It was like pushing against a boulder. “What about Ruth?” The question surprised her, erupting out of nowhere, and yet, she realized it had been hovering at the edge of her mind.
Cutter drew back, taking a moment to marshal his response. “Ruth is my cousin’s wife. She’s family, and family means everything to us Raps. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. Why would you ask such a question?”
“She’s in love with you.” Vicky knew with a dead certainty it was true, the shadowy truth that had been following her around since the day at Ruth’s house when Ruth kept looking for Cutter, wondering when he would show up. An ugly suspicion, Vicky had told herself. What right did she have to be suspicious of a woman who had just learned that her husband was dead? She had tried to push it aside, and still it had followed her, nagged at her. Pay attention. Pay attention. Grandmother’s voice in her head. You can feel when something isn’t right.
“Enough about Ruth.” Cutter was on her, pushing her hard into the ground. She tried pummeling his chest, but he swept her hands away and locked them down.
“No, Cutter!” She was yelling, but there was no one around. Crickets somewhere, maybe a squirrel scampering up a tree. She was alone with a man about to rape her.
“I said, no!” She kicked at the brown bag that tumbled back into the fire. Flames swooshed into the air and licked at the blanket. Then a loud crack as the flames ignited the alcohol Cutter had spilled.
“Damn it!” Cutter jumped up and started stomping the fire.
A half second was all it took. Vicky was on her feet, scooping up her bag as she ran. Down the path and through the trees, a shortcut to the road. Cutter behind her, yelling her name. “Come back. Come back.”
She was inside the Ford, the door locked, the keys in her hand. She jammed the key in the ignition and willed the engine to turn over. Cutter outside, banging his fists on her window. My God, he was going to break the window! She shifted into forward and threw her weight onto the gas pedal. The Ford jumped into life, up and over a clump of dirt and out onto the road. Cutter running alongside, shouting and banging, and then he was in the rearview mirror, hands thrown in the air, as if he could call the evil spirits down on her.