Masters 01 Master of the Mountain (24 page)

Where could he be?

After turning the sausage, she checked the door again. And again. And again. By the time the spaghetti simmered in a giant pot, she couldn't stand waiting anymore. Jake said Thor never missed a meal…ever. Something must be wrong.

She went into the main room. Almost empty except for three men playing cards.

“I call,” Mel growled.

Paul scowled at him and then glanced up at Rebecca. “Something wrong?”

“Maybe. Thor hasn't come back, and he's always here for meals.”

“Thor?” Christopher's brows drew together. “We don't have anyone named Thor.”

“It's the dog, idiot.” Mel patted Rebecca's arm. “He's probably out chasing a deer or something. I wouldn't worry.”

“But Jake says he always—”

“Let's see what you've got, you bastard.” Mel tapped the table, and the men's attention turned to the cards. She'd obviously been dismissed.

Kicking over the table won't help. Might be satisfying but won't help
. She walked to the front door and onto the porch, scowling at the surrounding mountains. Miles and miles of forest. Sunset arrived in about two hours. That didn't leave her much time, but she could at least walk up the trail a ways.

Okay, then
. She crossed the clearing and the rutted dirt road, her sneakers squishing noisily in the mud. When she moved into the forest, the temperature dropped at least ten degrees, and the moist pine needles added a sharp scent to the clean tang of the air. Stopping only to call Thor's name, she followed the trail as it switched back and forth, climbing steadily upward. Stillness surrounded her, with only an occasional creak of overhead branches accompanied by a spatter of rainwater, the cry of a distant hawk, and the rushing sound of a nearby stream. Was this what peace sounded like?

Her heart and lungs had adapted to the higher altitude over the past few days, so her body felt good, like a well-functioning machine. And the machine had lost the feeling of coiled tension. As she thought of returning to work on Thursday, to meetings and pressure, to power plays and pissing contests, her stomach twisted.

She reached a small rocky outlook and stopped to enjoy the warmth of the sun and catch her breath. Over the higher mountains in the east, dark clouds lingered, the sheeting rain a glorious golden from the setting sun. A tiny question poked up inside her, a tendril of a thought. If she didn't like the thought of returning to work, was that an indication of vacationitis or something deeper?

She turned and glanced at the sun. No time to stop and think. “Thor!” she yelled, then listened.
Nothing
. She repeated it twice and then started back on the trail, still heading up.

Okay, she didn't particularly like the people aspect of her job. No, actually, she hated the people aspect. With that thought came another. Why the heck did she want to be a senior art director and be stuck with managing people? That made no sense at all.
Duh, Rebecca
. The American dream—advance or die, make more money or you're a loser—had sucked her right into its maw.

She had been more satisfied cooking meals here than almost anything she had done at her high-paid job. But she loved painting. Drawing. Sketching. The sheer creative moments. Taking a concept and making it flow. If only she didn't have to deal with inane subject matter and clients and… Face it, given a choice, she'd far rather draw for herself than for an advertising team.

She stopped dead and scowled at the winding path. What was this,
Revelation Trail?
She needed to get the heck off it before her entire career got flushed down the drain.

Too late
. She pushed a branch up and ducked under it, receiving a shower of raindrops.
Interim plan
. Return to work with open eyes and see if she still felt the same way. Maybe this was just some weird mountain effect.

But if she still felt the same way. Well. She'd start looking for something closer to what she liked. The relief and anticipation that washed through her with that decision surprised her. Had she been ignoring her feelings all these years?

She startled a deer—mutual startlement really, considering she'd almost jumped out of her sneakers—and stopped at a viewpoint that made her fingers itch for her paints. Then she noticed the slant of the sun's rays. She frowned. How long had she been hiking? She needed to be able to get back by dark. “Thor,” she yelled. “Thor!”

Was that a whine? She tilted her head and listened, hearing winds rustling the branches high overhead, a stream rushing somewhere below, and a whimper. God, it was him. “Where are you, guy?”

The whine came from downhill. She left the trail, heading toward a greener area, which indicated a streambed. Pushing through damp vegetation, she reached the water and stopped. “Thor. Say something.”

A whine came from the other side. She spotted a hint of brown fur in a bunch of logs and branches. Oh great. Just how could she get over there? That damn water moved faster than miniature rapids. She scowled, checking up and down the stream. Did they forget to put in bridges? After a minute, she saw how the boulders poking out of the rushing water might form a traversable path…if she hopped from stone to stone.

She marked the pattern in her head and then started across. Slipped and recovered. Darn it, she was
so
not an athlete. Another rock, this one slimy with moss and spray. Another. Finally only a long leap to the bank remained. Piece of cake.

She jumped and exhilaration soared through her as she came down clear of the water, but then her foot landed on a piece of wood and skidded. Her ankle twisted, and she fell hard onto her hip and shoulder.

Dammit
. Once she recovered the breath knocked out of her, she pushed herself to a sitting position. “Well, how graceful.”

Her ankle twisted the minute she put weight on it, and red and black danced in front of her eyes like a checkerboard of pain. This was so not good. The dog's whine recalled her to her mission. “Okay, baby, I'm coming.” She'd try to help him, even if she had to crawl.

“Sheesh, Thor, couldn't have found an easier place to get trapped?” she asked as she got closer. Caught in a tangle of debris, he'd obviously fallen through the mass of downed branches. She edged onto the pile and reached down to him.

He covered her hand with dog kisses before she got him to settle down. She surveyed the situation. If she pulled away that branch and that one… She broke branches and yanked away others, giving him room to move.

He didn't.

Why? She shoved her good foot under a log and, headfirst, edged farther down into the prison of branches. A sharp, broken-off stub was jammed into Thor's paw, pinning it. Major owie. Rebecca reached down and broke off more branches until she reached the one stabbing into his paw. No way to move it without hurting him. Her muscles tight, she whispered, “Don't bite me, okay?” She yanked the branch away from his paw.

When he yipped, she cringed, yanking her hand away.

Thor didn't even snarl. Tail wagging, he clambered out of the debris pile, doing much better on three legs than she did on one.

She crawled back off, groaning each time her swollen ankle bumped a branch. A little ways from the streambed, she sat down next to a tree and leaned against the trunk. “Let's see that paw, guy.”

Thor trotted over and actually held his paw up for her. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the jagged gash.
Great
. “I cannot believe I'm going to do first aid on a dog,” she said to him. “You won't hurt me. Right?” She pulled off her shirt, then took off the chemise underneath. Nice and stretchy. She wrapped it around his paw, whimpering with him, and tied it in place with the shoulder straps. “There. All better,” she said and received a wet lick over her cheek.

He sat next to her, lifting his front leg with a whine.

Thor dropped down beside her and laid his head in her lap. His sigh joined hers.

“We are so screwed.”

* * * * *

Logan carried an armload of groceries into the kitchen and looked around. Paul and Mel were putting dishes into the dishwasher while Christopher scrubbed pots in the sink.

Something smelled good, and he'd missed it. Damn. “Spaghetti?”

“Yes,” Mel said. “It would have been really good except Rebecca bailed out, and Ashley cooked the noodles into mush.”

“What do you mean,
Rebecca bailed
?”

Behind Logan, the kitchen door opened, and Jake walked in with the last sack of groceries. “I saw you were back. Is this it?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Logan started unpacking the goods and putting things away. “Have you seen Rebecca?”

Jake's hand stalled over a loaf of bread. “I thought she went into town with you.”

A chill slid up Logan's spine. “No, she wanted to paint.” He turned to Mel. “You said she bailed. Where to?”

“Ah.” Mel exchanged glances with the other two men. “She was worried about the dog, but I told her it probably took off after a deer. I—”

“I don't remember seeing her after that. 'Bout an hour ago?” Paul said, frowning at Christopher. “We didn't think too much about her not being here, since she isn't hanging with the group.”

Logan rubbed his jaw and glanced at Jake. “If she was worried about Thor, she'd go after him.”

Jake nodded. “That's how I read it.”

Logan glanced at the swingers. “You people stay here at the lodge. I don't need anyone else lost.” He didn't wait for an answer, just headed into the main room, stopping long enough to grab a heavy-duty flashlight and his backpack from the hook on the wall. Jake followed right behind him.