Black Hills

the camera. I’ll get a signal and a picture when and if it activates.”
    “Fancy.”
    “Lucius rigged it. He’s our resident nerd genius. He can get a message to your grandparents if you want to check on them. But I told him to call them, or have Tansy call, and let them know we’re camped. Weather’s holding, so we should be good.”
    She turned her head. Their eyes met, held. Something knocked hard and loud in his heart before she turned away. “It’s good coffee,” she said. “I’m going to settle my horse, then I’ll heat up that stew.”
    She walked away and left him by the stream.
     
     
     
    SHE DIDN’T WANT to feel this way. It annoyed her, frustrated her that she couldn’t just block what she didn’t want, just refuse it.
    What was it about him? That hint of sad and mad, still there, still under the surface of him, just pulled at her.
    Her feelings, she reminded herself. Her problem.
    Was this how Jean-Paul felt? she wondered. Wanting, needing, and never quite getting the real thing in return? She should have every square inch of her ass kicked for making anyone else feel this helpless.
    Maybe knowing she was still in love with Cooper Sullivan was her ass-kicking. God knew, it was painful.
    A pity she didn’t have Jean-Paul’s option to go, just leave. Her life was here, roots, work, heart. So she’d just have to deal with it.
    With her horse fed and watered, she heated the stew.
    Dusk floated down as she carried the plate over to him.
    “Should be hot enough. I’ve got work, so . . .”
    “Fine. Thanks.” He took the plate, went back to reading his book by the dying light and the glow of his stove.
    In the twilight, mule deer came to drink downstream. Lil could see their movements and shadows, hear the rustles and hoof strikes. She glanced at the computer, but there was no movement—yet—on the grassland.
    When the moon rose, she took the computer and her lantern into her tent. Alone—she felt more alone with Coop there than she would have by herself—she listened to the night, to the wild. With the night music came the call of the hunter, the scream of the hunted. She heard her horse blow, whinny lightly to Coop’s.
    The air was full of sound, she thought. But the two humans in it exchanged not a single word.
     
     
     
    SHE AWOKE JUST before dawn, sure the computer had signaled. But a glance showed her only a blank screen. She sat up slowly, ears tuned. There was movement outside the tent, stealthy and human. In the dark, Lil visualized her drug gun and her rifle. She made the decision, and reached out to take the drug gun.
    She opened her tent slowly, scanned through the opening. Even in the dark, she recognized the shadow as Cooper. Still, she kept the gun as she slid out of the tent.
    “What is it?”
    He held up a hand to silence her, used it to gesture her back into her tent. Ignoring that, she moved toward him.
    “What?” she said again.
    “Somebody was out here. That direction.”
    “Could’ve been an animal.”
    “It wasn’t. He must’ve heard me inside the tent, opening it. He took off, and fast. What the hell is that for?”
    She glanced down at the tranquilizer gun. “For immunizing. Including humans, if necessary. I heard you out here, but I couldn’t be sure it was you.”
    “Could’ve been an animal.”
    She hissed out a breath. “Okay, yes, you probably know the difference as well as I do. What the hell is that for?” she demanded, pointing at the 9mm in his hand.
    “For immunizing.”
    “Jesus, Cooper.”
    Rather than respond, he went back to his tent, came out with a flashlight. He handed it to her. “Read the tracks.”
    She shone the light on the snow. “Okay, that’s you, likely moving off from the campsite to empty your bladder.”
    “You’d be right about that.”
    “And that’s another set of tracks, coming from across the stream, cutting this way. Walking. Heading north, that’s at a run, or at least a good lope.” She huffed out a breath. “Poacher, maybe. Somebody looking to set up a hunting stand, spotted the campsite. But hell, the tracks look like the ones up by the cage. Could still be a poacher. Just one who likes to screw around.”
    “Maybe.”
    “You probably still think like a cop, or a PI, so everyone’s a suspect. And you’re probably thinking I’d have had trouble if you weren’t here.”
    “Wow, now you’re a mind reader.”
    “I know how it goes. Believe me, you wouldn’t be thrilled to take a hit