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KATE PULLED THE BOILING water off the grill and washed the last of the supper plates. The camp was blessedly quiet. Monty was buckling hobbles on the mules, switching horses off the picket line and making sure they all had a chance to graze. Courtney and Tyra were with Logan, in the middle of one of their private security check-ins, while Jack and Kessler stood watch somewhere in the trees.
Kate packed all the food away in the panniers, then moved them downwind, a prudent distance from the tents. The animal resistant panniers were effective and even if the scent drew wildlife, they’d be far away from the sleeping area. She’d grain the horses later, when they were all tied to the picket line, and also lead them to the river for a final watering.
Monty wandered back carrying his tin cup, looking relaxed now that the guests were out of earshot. “So, how are you holding up? You did a helluva job earlier. That Tyra girl is sure demanding.”
He took a pensive sip, his gaze drifting toward the two girls gathered around Logan. “Wonder what they’re reporting about the river incident. Never saw two men split so fast. All they did was get in my way. And their hands were on their holsters. Not sure how they thought guns were going to help.”
Kate dumped more soap in the sudsy water, still feeling sympathy for Tyra. It would have been a scary two minutes hung up in that saddle, helpless and unable to breathe. “At least we know they’re good at watching out for someone,” she said.
“Yeah,” Monty said. “It appears the President’s daughter is quite safe. It would be hard to take down three agents, unless they’re split up. Or totally surprised.”
Kate’s head jerked up. The tone of Monty’s voice had changed, turning thoughtful. He no longer seemed to be talking about the river, but something else. And they’d been warned never to refer to Courtney as the President’s daughter. They weren’t even supposed to call her by name in the unlikely event they met other riders.
“You mean Petal,” Kate said, edging closer and checking the contents of Monty’s cup. The cook always tucked in a bottle or two, and most riders enjoyed a campfire drink. But Kate had assumed they’d abstain from alcohol, given the age and importance of their guests.
The drink in Monty’s cup was amber colored though. Definitely not coffee. And now that she was closer she could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Are they okay with drinking?” she whispered.
“We always have a drink at night,” Monty said. “That’s part of the ride. And guests are fed, tents are pitched. We’re done for the day. Besides, we need one after the river crossing. That girl is probably going to be terrified tomorrow. Boss won’t be happy.”
He took another brooding sip and it was clear he felt responsible for Tyra, and for almost losing Slider.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Kate said. “How about I saddle up Belle? And lead Slider across the river before it gets dark. Help him get back his confidence.”
Monty nodded. “Good idea. And if Tyra really doesn’t want to ride him anymore, would you switch? Belle will take care of her. And Slider trusts you. Think you could ride him?”
“Sure, if that’s what Tyra wants.” Kate gave a nonchalant shrug and turned toward the horses. But her heart was thumping. Tomorrow’s ride included a long winding section along the base of Saddleback Ridge, nothing like the mountain pass to the west. But there were spots with ten-foot drops. And just the thought of riding a horse over that type of terrain—a horse named Slider—sent fear worming through her belly. She comforted herself with the knowledge that Tyra would never lower herself to ride a mule. Like Logan, the girl scorned them, considering mules inferior.
Rather reassured, Kate saddled Belle and collected the palomino. But even his friendly nicker didn’t make her feel much better. Now she obsessed about his name. Slider? How ominous was that? More than ever, she wished Tyra hadn’t picked a horse based on color.
Slider shouldn’t be expected to do anything but look handsome in his golden coat while galloping around a tractor-groomed arena, flashing that thick white mane and tail. He was a performance horse, bred for high scores in reining, not scrambling over rough trails and rocky river crossings. He’d probably be too terrified to step one foot into that river, and after such an experience she didn’t blame him.
But when she led him down to the water, he didn’t hesitate. He splashed right in beside Belle, acting like a veteran trail horse, proving he was much more resilient than Kate.
Sighing, she stopped both animals in the middle of the river. She patted the ever-patient Belle, then reached over to stroke Slider’s neck. The palomino stood stock still in the swirling water, not stepping off the gravel path, taking his cues from the confident mule and Kate’s reassuring voice.
“You really are a brave horse,” she whispered. “But I still don’t want to ride you.”
She looked back at Monty who watched from the river bank. She gave him a thumbs-up, relieved Slider had no mental scars. He’d be fine for tomorrow. They’d just have to convince Tyra of that.
It was then Kate spotted the tree notch. Fifty feet to the right of Monty, on a steep bank by the water, out of sight of camp but visible to anyone approaching from the other side. And it was exactly the same shape as the mark she’d spotted at their lunch stop.
She turned her head, pretending to pat Belle’s neck but actually studying the trees on the opposite bank. Was someone standing there? Watching her? Watching Courtney?
Goosebumps chilled the back of her neck. But Belle nosed at the water, playfully plunging her dripping muzzle in and out of the swirling eddies, and even Slider relaxed enough to paw and splash with his front leg. Neither animal acted as if there were any strangers spying from the woods.
Perhaps marking the trail was something the Secret Service did? They seemed obsessed about following some sort of procedure. Maybe it was marked so a rider could find the river crossing, in case something happened to Monty. Or maybe Monty was marking the trail for future riders. He was helpful like that, always giving less experienced guides valuable tips. But then she remembered... Monty didn’t even carry a knife. His gear had been confiscated by Kessler.
She turned the animals and waded back through the river, studiously not looking over her shoulder.
Monty set down his cup and stepped up to the water’s edge. She passed him Slider’s lead line and stepped down from Belle’s back, relieved they were still alone.
“Someone is marking our trail,” she whispered. “I’ve spotted two fresh tree blazes, and there could be a couple more I missed. You’re not doing it, are you?”
“Of course not.” His smile faded. “Are you sure?”
“Maybe not about the one at lunch. But I’m positive the mark by the bank wasn’t there when we first crossed.” Then she hesitated. Maybe she had missed it. She’d been focused on keeping the mule train in line, and then on rescuing Tyra and Slider.
But Monty nodded, his voice troubled. “No, you’re right. I didn’t see a blaze either. And none of the agents said anything. The only time they were out of sight was at lunch...and now here.”
They both twisted, peering around but trying not to look obvious about it. At first glance, the camp seemed normal. Contented horses, comfortable tents, a friendly fire. But the elaborate communication equipment was far from normal. And the bulges beneath the men’s shirts were a constant reminder of Courtney’s importance.
“We have to tell one of the agents,” Kate whispered.
“Yes,” Monty said. “But which one?”
