“Hey,” a voice called out. “That you, Ma?”
“Yeah, so you’d better shape up. Hide the booze and dope. Tell the girls to put their clothes back on.” Moira laughed hollowly. She was glad to see the collection of cabin tents, pitched in a careful row. The wind had picked up, blasting at a good clip. Between that and the snow, visibility was less than twenty feet. Without her GPS, she wasn’t at all certain she’d have found the camp.
“Guess I’m not the only one who tagged you that way,” Tim joked. His voice sounded thin, like he was nearly at the end of his reserves. Cold could do that to a person. It sapped everything out of you shockingly fast.
She reached for his arm and dragged him into one of the canvas tents. Smaller versions of the ones Yosemite used for their high country camps, they were substantial: ten by fifteen feet and tall enough to stand in at the center. Extremely heavy-duty, they were plumbed for woodstoves, but she was nearly certain the crew hadn’t packed any stoves in on the mules. No one expected this freak storm.
“Who all’s here?” She took off her pack and propped it in a corner, pulling her headlamp out. It was dim inside the tent, and she couldn’t see very well. It was also a whole lot warmer out of the wind.
“Mitch and me.”
“That you, Jake?” she asked, adjusting her light. “Oh, never mind. I can see now.”
She focused the beam on a barrel-chested, dark-haired man with a full beard sitting on a three-legged stool. Dressed in his usual grease-stained down and Gore-Tex, he looked as rumpled as ever. She’d worked with him several times before. Jake liked his dope, but he was also a dependable operative—at least most of the time.
“Thought you’d recognize my voice.” Hamming it up, Jake sounded wounded. “After everything we’ve shared—”
“Can it,” she said brusquely, unsure if Tim would realize Jake was joking. “Who else?”
“We’re the only ones here. Everyone else is spread between camp and the Muir Trail. Tons of deadfall there. Trail’s completely blocked a bunch of places. They were going to start with the closest snarl. It’s only a couple miles away.”
A chilly tongue of fear bit deep. The crew should’ve aborted operations when the weather turned. If they had, they’d be getting back right about now. “When did they leave?”
Jake looked at his watch and mumbled. “About nine.”
“How come you and Mitch didn’t get on the mules and go round them up when you saw the barometer was dropping? Or did you even bother to check it?” Irritation made it hard to keep her voice cordial.
“You know the answer to that.”
She blew out an impatient breath. “Yeah. You wanted to save your own sorry hide.”
“I could help if there are injured,” Tim said through chattering teeth.
Shit. Nearly forgot he needs more clothes.
“You won’t be able to do anything until you get warm. Jake, could you round up something to fit Tim?”
“Where’d you find him?” Something ran beneath Jake’s words—maybe disapproval she’d brought an outsider into the fold.
“On the trail. He doesn’t have enough with him. You be nice. He’s an old friend of mine. And he’s a doctor. The way things are looking, we might need one.”
“Oh.” Jake shuffled to his feet and headed for the door. “Be right back. I think Brandon has spare clothes. Kid brought enough to practically sink the mule. Should be about the right size too.”
“How many people are out in the storm?” Tim asked. Reflected in the light from her headlamp, his expression was serious—and worried.
“Seven men and two women.” Moira reached for her pack, unzipped a compartment and pulled out the roster. “Crap. I suppose this means I have to go look for them.”
“Not by yourself you aren’t.”
She bristled, and then bit down on a sharp retort. “I hate to admit it, but you’re right. No point in getting lost myself. The mules are sure-footed, but I shouldn’t risk any more of them, either.”
Jake scuttled back through the door with a sleepy-looking Mitch right behind him. Mitch, all emaciated six feet of him, reeked of marijuana.
Something in Moira snapped. She stomped up to him. “No drugs. What part of that don’t you get? And certainly not during the day when you’re supposed to be working.”
“What makes you think—?”
“I’m your superior here. And the law. Don’t insult both of us by lying to me. Go get the dope. All of it. And bring it here.”
“Oh.” A sly look lit his close-set green eyes. He shoved a shock of red hair out of his face. “Wanting a hit yourself are you?”
“Just go get it. And I swear, Mitchell, if you don’t bring every bit of it to me, I’ll see you go to jail for violating federal law and the Drug Free Workplace Act.”
Mitch looked like he wanted to say something, but he clapped his jaws shut, turned, and left.
She tugged the armload of clothing out of Jake’s hands and gave it to Tim. “Go put more clothes on.”
He faded into the shadows toward the back of the tent without protest. She could only imagine how chilled he must be.
“Any extra sleeping bags?” she asked Jake.
He shook his head. “Nope. We were one short as it was. Not sure how that happened. Maybe it fell out of one of the mule packs on the way in.”
“Are there woodstoves for any of the tents?”
Jake shook his head again.
“Okay.” She pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, trying to decide the best course of action. “There are eleven of you and five or six tents, so you’ve been sleeping two together?”
“Basically.”
She knew what that meant. The dopers were all in one tent. “These tents will sleep ten. We’ll put six in one and seven in another. We need warmth.”
“What if the others don’t come back?”
“Then whoever’s left will bunk down in here.” She thought about her satellite phone and wondered if she should call in an emergency. Moira looked at her watch. Three o’clock. “If the storm’s still kicking ass an hour from now and the rest of the crew’s not back, I’ll call headquarters.”
Tim came forward bundled in a puffy jacket, wool hat, and thick overpants. Gloves covered his hands. Some of the color had come back into his face. He sank into one of the camp chairs and motioned toward an iso-butane cook stove. “Mind if I heat some water?”
“Probably a good idea.” She was ashamed she hadn’t thought of it first. Warm clothes and hot liquids were the first line of defense against cold.
“Jake, go see what happened to Mitch. I’ll make hot water for tea and coffee.”
“Heh. Didn’t think he’d come back.” Jake smirked.
“What did you think he’d do?” Alarmed, she stared at Jake’s bearded face.
“Oh, probably take one of the mules and head up and over Baxter. With his stash.”
“What? He can’t do that. Those mules are federal property. And the storm could kill both of them.” She sprang for the tent door, but Jake beat her to it.
“You stay here. I’ll go look. No point both of us getting lost out there.”
Tim had located the gallon water jugs and a pot. The water he’d put on the stove was already steaming. “There enough air in here to support this?” He pointed at the iso-butane burner.
“Probably not. Stove vent hole’s not big enough even if it were open. Here.” She tacked the tent’s door open on a hook.
“That water’s all going to freeze.”
“True, but we can melt snow.”
A raven flew into the tent, followed by another. Tim jumped to his feet, ducking as one flew right at him, latched its talons into his shoulder, and started pecking at his head. Moira grabbed the closest thing she could find. She swung the shovel hard at the bird and felt gratified when it connected. A mass of black feathers fell to the tent floor where the raven twitched spasmodically.
“What the fuck?” Tim sputtered.
What the fuck, indeed. I thought they wanted me.
Breath rattled in her throat. Fear threatened to paralyze her. She remembered how insanely jealous Ryan could be, growling at any man who so much as told her good morning.
“Oomph!” Tim shook himself from stem to stern. “Glad you got the bird, but you nearly took my head out along with it.”
“Sorry if I scared you. Remember? I used to play semipro softball. You weren’t in any danger.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “I’d actually forgotten that little tidbit. Did you kill it?”
“Don’t know. Probably not, since it’s moving,” she answered, still brandishing the shovel. The other raven kept its distance.
Tim stared at her through narrowed eyes. “That’s what you were yelling about up on the trail. Those wounds on your face look like beak marks. And that’s what you used your gun for. You shot at them so they’d leave you alone.”
“Smart man.” She winced at the rancor in her tone. “Shit. I am so sorry I got you into this. Look, I’ll explain later, but we’ve got to shoo that other bird out of here.” She took off for the back of the tent, using her arms and the shovel to herd the bird forward.
“Moira, he’ll leave on his own.” Tim’s voice was gentle, as if he thought she’d lost her mind. He picked up the still-twitching raven and chucked it out the door.
“Normal birds would,” she said through gritted teeth. “But these aren’t normal. Now help me before any more get in here.”
As if responding to an invitation, two more flew inside.
“Grab your stuff,” she panted. Ice chips skittered down her spine.
“What? Why?”
“We’ve got to go to one of the other tents. We’ll never get them out of here.”
“That’s ridiculous. Of course we will.”
For just a moment, she thought he was going to refuse. She didn’t know what she’d do then, but Tim got his pack and the rest of the small pile of clothes Jake had brought for him. He tucked his staff under one arm and turned off the stove. Clapping a lid on the hot water, he said, “Okay. Ready.”
She thought about shutting the tent door, but she didn’t want to lock the birds inside the main tent. There were things they’d need in there. Besides, Moira was pretty sure the ravens would leave as soon as she was gone, so long as the door was open. Pack on her back and gun belt in hand, she squinted against the blizzard in progress and led the way to the next tent.
“The trick,” she yelled to make herself heard over the wind, “will be to get us inside without any birds.”
“That should be easy.” Hot breath brushed against her cheek and she realized he’d placed his mouth right next to the side of her head. A shiver ran up her back that didn’t have anything to do with being afraid. “They didn’t follow us. Open the door. My hands are full.”
She fumbled with the latch, her gloved fingers clumsy. Moira was careful not to open the door very far. As soon as the opening was wide enough, they slid inside. She slammed the canvas in place, hooking it against wind and birds. Tim set the things in his arms down. He took a hefty swig of warm water from the cook pot and walked over to her, laying gentle hands on her shoulders. “Do you want to tell me what this is all about?”
“Not really.”
He nodded. “Yes, but I think you have to.” He looked around the tent, twin to the one they’d just vacated. “We may end up the only two people here, since it doesn’t appear Jake’s coming back.”
Anxiety—and guilt—clanged like discordant notes. “I—uh—I ought to go look for both of them.”
“In that?” He gestured toward the door. “You couldn’t find your own arm out there, let alone two potheads who want to be left alone with their dope.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She moved away from him and set her pack down, but kept hold of her gun. Shooting the birds was an option, but killing wildlife went against the grain. She respected animals. As a ranger, she was sworn to protect them. Besides her large bore revolver would put major holes in the tent. She might even kill Mitch or Jake inadvertently if they showed up at the wrong time.
Tim settled himself on a canvas stool. “Grab a seat—” he pulled up another one and pointed to it “—and tell me why those birds attacked us.”
“It’s a long story—”
“Just hit the high points.” He sounded deadly serious. When she didn’t move toward the other stool, he stood, went to her, and pulled her into his arms. He kneaded the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders. “You’re shaking. Whatever this is, mo ghrá, we can get through it.”
Maybe it was the Gaelic endearment, but to her horror, Moira felt a sob rake its way through her chest, followed by another. It had been so long since she’d felt any tenderness from anyone that it undid her. She tried to pull away, ashamed of being weak and needy, but Tim held fast.
“Ssht. Hush. Take a few deep breaths. The birds can’t get to us here.”
Moira raised her head from his shoulder long enough to stare at the canvas-walled tent. She wasn’t certain a raven’s beak couldn’t breach the stout fabric. “Not so sure about that,” she murmured.
“Well, they’re not in here yet. I love you, mo ghrá. I always have. Let me help.” His voice was steady, and logic permeated his words. She wanted to believe him, but it had been a long time since she’d had faith in anyone.
“Okay,” she said through a hiccuppy sob. “The short version is my husband—”
He drew back so he could look at her face. “I thought you told me yesterday you’d divorced him.”
“Uh, yes. Well, no, not exactly... At least not quite yet.” Her words trailed off. Heat rose to her cheeks. This tent had two plastic inserts that let at least some light in. Moira wished for the relative darkness of the main supply tent. It would’ve hidden her discomfiture better.
“Which is it?” He tightened his fingers on her shoulders, so her answer was important to him.
“Technically, I’m still married. But I caught him cheating and left a few weeks back. I hired a lawyer, and he’s working on divorce papers.”
Tim cocked his head to one side, still watching her intently, but not saying anything. He had the most incredible eyes. Like a clear sea with gold flecks where sunlight bounced off the surface.
“Ryan is Native American. Shamans for his tribe come from his bloodline. The raven is their totem.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand what this has to do with the birds.” Comprehension smoothed the lines that had creased Tim’s forehead. “Working with Paiutes from the reservation in Bishop taught me how enmeshed Native Americans are in Earth Magic.” He took a deep breath and locked gazes with her. “You think Ryan—or his kin—sicced the birds on you.”
She nodded, her emotional storm under partial control. It meant a lot that Tim was actually listening to her. And taking her seriously.
“You do know how fantastic this would sound—to anyone but a Druid.” The corners of his mouth turned downward.
“Yeah, I do.” She gripped his jacket sleeves. “And I may be absolutely wrong, but I can’t think of any other reason the ravens would’ve attacked first me, then you.” She hesitated. “Ryan’s one jealous son of a bitch.”
“How’d you end up with him?”
Color didn’t merely creep, it flooded her face this time.
Tim nodded curtly, but his eyes looked sad. “Understood. You found someone to sleep with and got sucked in.” He reached a gloved hand and tilted her chin so she had to look at him. “Would you have stayed with me if I’d been free to make love with you? To marry you when we were twenty-two, instead of years downstream.”
“How can you even ask that? Unless I’m missing something, you never asked me to marry you at all.” Her voice shook from remembered hurt. “And you never told me anything. Nothing at all. You occasionally said you loved me, but your actions didn’t back up the words.”
“I didn’t tell you anything because I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to. I didn’t do a very good job of explaining myself.” His voice was gentle.
“No, you didn’t.” A wellspring of love shoved against the lid of the vault where she’d stuffed it ten years ago. Moira struggled to keep it contained. There were a lot of things she needed to understand. “We ended up fighting all the time over whatever you were hiding and sort of lost sight of each other.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It was pretty awful. Especially those last few months. I’d try so hard to just enjoy being with you, but we always ended up blaming each other for things we couldn’t change.”
“You could have done something. You just let me walk away.”
He flinched at the accusatory undertone in her words. “I’m not sure what I could have done. I felt stuck. Your grandmother already told you I had to remain celibate. Arch Druids need to keep their magic pure until their investiture.
“The worst part, though, was I was sworn to silence. If I’d broken that oath, I would’ve put every Druid in the world at risk. Not just those in this country. Organized churches are frightened by what we represent—threatened enough to try to wipe us out. That night I left you crying in my apartment, I ran all the way to the priory to beg Liam to reconsider. He wouldn’t. Even though I couldn’t see it then, now I know it was the right decision.” Tim blew out a sad-sounding breath, his gaze never leaving hers.
“If I’d walked out on my Druid vows, I would’ve left a big chunk of myself behind. Niggling things like honor and respect. Mo ghrá, the man you loved had principles. I would’ve turned into someone different if I’d rejected them to move our life forward.”
She winced, embarrassed. Tim pretty much nailed it. She’d wanted him to put her before everything else. Demanded it, without a thought as to how it would impact the rest of his life. “Guess I was pretty egocentric. I’m finally starting to understand. Maybe I was too young, but I wish we could’ve had this conversation—”
“Just be grateful to the goddess we’re having it now.” His voice held a husky rasp that had always driven her crazy.
Moira couldn’t tear her gaze away, even if his fingers hadn’t been under her chin. She was losing herself in the miracle of his eyes.
“I never even looked at another woman, mo ghrá. No flirting, no dates, nothing. Never could get you out of my mind. I knew I had four years in medical school and another three as a resident to wade through. Got an MPH first, while I was waffling about whether I really wanted to be a doctor, so that added another year. I always told myself I’d find you—”
“Why didn’t you ever call me back? Or answer any of my letters?”
“Because nothing had really changed, and I was too much of a traditionalist to tell the Arch Druid to go to hell. Liam’s been like a dad to me. Not sure if you remember, but the Druids pretty much raised me after my parents were killed. I don’t know if they would’ve done it if I hadn’t had such a strong aptitude for magic—or been slated to be the next Arch Druid—but that part doesn’t matter. Liam’s been expecting me back ever since I left.” That same crooked grin lit his features.
She took a deep breath, hoping for a miracle. “You said nothing’s changed—”
“Ah, but that was before yesterday.”
He pulled her against him again and settled his lips over hers, light as butterfly wings. The kiss was soft, tender, and not demanding at all. It was a test-the-waters kiss, and she knew it. With a mind of their own, her arms wound around him. She opened her mouth to him, sucking his tongue and nibbling his lips.
Tim slid his hands ever so slowly down her back and placed them on the curves of her ass. He snugged her body against his, and she felt the jut of him pressing into the junction between her thigh and stomach. His breathing quickened. He thrust his hips against her and made a sound like a big jungle cat on the prowl. She’d always loved that sound—it was predatory and hungry and possessive all rolled into one. Except before, he’d always pulled away from her right after making it.
She shoved feebly at his chest. “But the birds. And the storm. And I’m supposed to be working.”
“We can’t do anything about the storm. Now that I’m looking for them with my power, I don’t feel the birds, not nearby anyway. And there’s not much work you can actually do right now.” He tightened his hands on her butt. “We won’t take too many clothes off. Please, darling. I’ve dreamed of doing more than kissing you since I was fifteen.”
Heat raced through her. Breath caught in her throat. Her nipples hardened where they pressed against his chest. All the moisture in her body headed straight for her nether regions because her mouth was suddenly dry with anticipation. She heard herself moan low in the back of her throat. He rocked his pelvis against her. Sandwiched between them, his cock twitched with what could only be need. She couldn’t wait. She wanted Tim with a desperation borne of years of denied need. Wanted to see all of him, touch him, taste him, and draw him into the empty, aching place deep inside her.
“I know you want me. I feel it in the energy dancing around you.” His voice was husky with passion. A hint of an Irish lilt had crept into it, making her feel as if she’d come home. Moira knew all about Irish brogues. Both her parents spoke the Irish version of Gaelic. And it had been her grandmother’s preferred language.
“Of course I want you. How could I not?” She cupped his face between her hands and ran her fingers down the stubbled lines of his cheeks and chin.
Understanding slammed her between the eyes. She’d always loved Tim beyond grace or reason. Something in him sang to her soul. She’d felt it since they were children. It hadn’t dimmed with the passage of time. If anything, the light within him that called to her burned even brighter than it ever had before.
He led her to one of the low cots lined against the sloping tent walls, sat, and wrapped his arms around her waist. The warmth of his breath seared her even through her clothing. He pulled off his gloves. They made a small, swishing noise as they hit the floor. Then he unfastened the belt, snaps, and zipper on her pants and storm pants. He closed his mouth over her belly button and lingered over it before working lower. She pushed at her clothing, eager to have it out of his way, but he made a grab for the fabric layers once they hit the tops of her thighs.
Tim stopped kissing her long enough to murmur, “This is all I need for now. It’s colder in here than you think.”
You couldn’t have proven that by her. Fire sprinted along her nerve endings. The swollen nub between her legs throbbed. All she could think about was pushing herself against his mouth and the fingers that had insinuated themselves into her pussy.
He licked and sucked, sending sparks of desire arcing through her. When he slid his fingers farther into her, Moira felt a climax spool deep in her core. He had to feel it too, from the tension in her muscles gripping his fingers. He shoved into her faster, and sucked hard on her clitoris. Spasms shook her. She heard herself screaming for him not to stop. To never stop.
Moira wasn’t sure if she collapsed on top of him on the narrow cot or if he drew her down next to him. Her legs were shaking, and there wasn’t enough air in the room. Snaking a hand between them, she curled it around his erection. It felt wonderful, thick and full of promise. He groaned and drove himself against her. She tugged off her gloves and fumbled with the zippers on his inner and outer pants.
Finally, his cock was in her hand, flesh against flesh. He thrust against her, breath coming fast. Even though she wanted him inside her as much as she’d ever wanted anything, Moira understood the wisdom of not getting undressed. If something happened and they had to move quickly, being half-naked could be lethal. She pumped her hand up and down his shaft and his cock swelled, on the verge of coming.
“Look at me,” he gasped. “I want to look into your eyes, into your soul, when I come.”
She met his gaze, shaken by the intimacy of the moment.
“Now, mo ghrá. Harder. Hold me harder.”
She tightened her fingers, and he exploded against her, crying her name again and again. Except it was the Gaelic pronunciation. His body heaved against hers one last time, then lay still.
The only sound in the tent was their ragged breathing as they clung to one another.
“Just think what we could do if we had a proper bed,” he murmured, his gaze still locked on hers.
She started to giggle.
The sound of ripping canvas froze the laughter in her throat and drove her to her feet, her heart beating furiously. Still fuzzy from her orgasm, she tugged at the zippers of her pants so they wouldn’t fall down. Then Tim was standing next to her, doing the same thing. He put an arm around her to stabilize her.
A raven’s head poked through a hole in the tent.
“Shit.” Moira dove for her gun and clicked the hammer back.
“I suppose we should count ourselves lucky it took them some time to break in here.” Tim glanced at her .357 magnum revolver. “What are you planning to do with that? Decimate the tent?”
“If I have to.”
Tim grabbed his staff. She did a double take. The intricately carved walking stick glowed with a bright, white light. Tim’s jaw was set in a hard line. Head high, he turned in a full circle, staff extended before him.
“Lying, cheating whore,” someone shouted from outside the tent. “You’re doing the same thing you’re divorcing me for.”
Tim looked at her. “Is that—?”
“Sounds like it, but I don’t have any idea how. He hates the backcountry. Wouldn’t have a clue how to get himself back here—or what to bring. The storm would’ve finished him off if he tried to follow me.”
“Ha! I did follow you. Wasn’t all that hard. That big pack of yours slows you down.”
I’m not losing my mind. That was the other set of footsteps I heard.
“If it was so easy, why didn’t you catch up?”
“Once I realized you weren’t alone, I got smart. There are many ways to travel.”
“I thought you were descended from all those generations of Indian scouts—the ones who braved ten feet of snow to hunt.”
“Shut up, bitch.”
Moira heard a tinny, discordant note in Ryan’s voice. Something clicked. Her ex wasn’t really out there, except as some sort of magical projection. And she’d bet her last buck his father was helping him.
“Did you tell Singing Bear what really happened?” she snarled.
Silence.
A different voice sounded in her mind. “Maybe not. Why don’t you tell me? You don’t need words, daughter. Images will do.”
Tim tightened his arm around her. “Be careful. That one has real magic.”
“Yes, but he always liked me. Give me a minute.” She sent one image to her father-in-law. The one that had dogged her ever since she walked in on Ryan and his bimbo.
“Thank you. That is all I needed. You cannot lie when you send mind-pictures, and that one came from your soul.” A hesitation, then, “I am sorry, daughter.”
Muted squawks rose from outside the tent, barely distinguishable above the howl of the wind. She heard Ryan tell his father that she was a scheming, lying slut. Here she was fucking some man in the wilderness like he figured she’d done every other time she left on Park Service assignments...
Moira listened, horrified. How could she have spent ten minutes with the bitter, angry man spewing malicious crap about her—let alone almost a year?
“None of that could possibly be true.” Still holding his staff, Tim turned her toward him. His face held a drawn look, as if hearing Ryan’s accusations hurt him as much as it did her.
She shook her head. “No. Ryan was the only one in my bed for the few months we spent together. Actually, he’s the only man I’ve ever had sex with. Until what we just did.”
Tim closed his arms around her. She felt the staff, warm where it rested against her back.
“Thanks for believing in me.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. Incredulity vied with joy. Ryan had never believed anything she ever told him.
“Of course I believe in you, mo ghrá. I love you.”
She shook her head. “It’s just—”
“Hush. That part of your life is over. Let’s concentrate on getting ourselves out of here, so we can see what the next part looks like.”
“Why was your walking stick glowing?”
“It’s a magic staff. I didn’t understand why it wanted me to bring it along last night, but I do now.”
She let herself rest against him for just a moment, shutting out the reality of their predicament. Too much snow had fallen for them to just walk back over the pass, and the blizzard didn’t show any sign of letting up.