Читать книгу Renegade's Pride - B.J. Daniels, B.J. Daniels - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

A SLIVER OF moon hung high in Montana’s immense night sky as Ely Cahill made his way out of the mountains. In the distance, he could see the ranch with its huge barn and, past it, the sprawling house where he’d once lived with his wife, Mary, which meant he didn’t have that much farther to go.

He stopped at the edge of the dark pines to shift the heavy pack on his back. It had been easier making this trek when he was younger. Now at almost seventy his gold panning in the mountains took a lot more out of him. He couldn’t bear the thought of the day he might not be able to make this trip.

Moving again, he licked his lips, anxious for that first drink he’d have once he reached town. He’d been prospecting in the mountains for over a month now and had found enough gold that it was weighing down his pocket, begging to be traded for cash.

A cloud passed over the moon, pitching the Western landscape into shadow. As if a spider had raced along his bare skin, Ely shuddered and shifted the pack again. He stopped to sniff the wind, alert to danger. At first he thought it might be a bear ahead in the shadowed darkness. He’d cleared the pine trees that blanketed the mountain and now looked down on the pasture. Nothing moved that he could see.

The moonlight glinted off the chain-link fence enclosure in the middle of the pasture. He felt his pulse bump up as his stomach did a slow, sickening roll. He had lived with the horror of what was buried inside that fence for years.

Now he listened, his ears attuned to trouble. As if what was buried there wasn’t frightening enough, it was what the enclosure attracted that made his blood run cold. Goose bumps rippled over his skin, an eerie chill in the night air.

After all these years, Ely knew every sound the night made in this part of Montana, from an owl hoot to a hawk’s cry to the snap of a twig under the weight of a predator’s paw. It was one reason he’d survived in the wilds all these years alone, which was the way he liked it.

Over the next rise, the lights of town beckoned. He licked his lips again, needing that drink more than ever. Boots heavy, he pushed on through the tall grass as he searched the horizon for whatever had spooked him. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt his skin prickle at this particular spot. He suspected it wouldn’t be the last.

His hand went to the back of his neck. He rubbed his nape under his long, curly graying hair and considered taking a detour around this particular spot. But it would take him a lot longer, and he was anxious now for noise and lights and food he hadn’t had to cook himself. Also, he could almost taste that first shot of hooch.

He’d been in the mountains too long. His stomach rumbled at the thought of hot cooked food. Cloud cover blocked the silver moonlight, deepening the darkness over the pasture that stood between him and civilization. He took a step, then another, the tall grass whickering against his filth-crusted canvas pants as he moved. He said the words like a mantra: whiskey and a bath in a tub with hot water and real soap. It propelled him forward a few more steps before he stopped again.

Nothing moved. Even the wind had stopped as if holding its breath. He might have thought he’d gone deaf if not for the tremulous thump of his heart.

It was on a night like this in 1967 that he’d first seen them. The memory was too fresh. He cursed himself for letting his thoughts take that particular path.

“Don’t be a damned fool,” he said out loud, needing to hear something, even his own voice. “They aren’t out there.”

And yet every fiber of his being knew better. They were here again. It was his only thought as he turned and tried to run, knowing it was a fool thing to do in the dark in a pasture full of gopher holes.

He’d taken only a few strides when his foot dropped into a gap. He fell face-first, the weight of his heavy pack slamming him down hard into the earth. The fall knocked the wind out of him.

Sprawled in the dirt, he gasped for air as he heard them coming. It was the same swishing sound as before, but this time there were two of them. He sucked in a ragged breath and tried to hold it.

Telling himself that maybe they wouldn’t see him if he stayed down, he waited. The waiting was too painful. He lifted his head just enough to peer over the tall grass. They looked larger than he remembered, their bodies hidden beneath the huge blinding-white space suits they wore. He could hear their breathing systems swishing in and out as they labored through the tall spring grass.

Ely thought he might be able to outrun them. He tried to slip off his backpack. It caught on his coat sleeve. Maybe if he could get to his pistol, but there wasn’t time.

He put his face against the cold ground and prayed they wouldn’t take him this time.