Beyond the Shadow (Above & Beyond Book 1) Page 5

  Sam nodded, the grin gone. Hawk didn’t need to say any more. Sam knew it had done a number on him—how he’d agonized over halting the search that night—tortured him further when they reached the McDonalds a day and a half later. Both dead.

  Both had, what, even under ideal conditions, would most likely have been fatal injuries. But they’d managed a final embrace—and were found frozen that way. The memory could send a shudder through any man involved, even now, months later.

  They continued watching Lake in silence for a moment. Hawk spoke first. “Why haven’t you mentioned her?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Your favorite topic. Hers too. Right.” He put a hand on Hawk’s shoulder. “Give it time.” Then, put his grin back on, attempting to lighten the mood. “Besides—a beautiful woman moves to town—what? I’m supposed to call and let you know? No way, buddy. I’ve been around you long enough to take whatever head-start I can get.”

  He shot Sam an incredulous look, “Seriously—have at it,” raising his hands in surrender. “No interference from here on this one.”

  “Right. Listen—don’t you have some metal to go pound on? Maybe knock you out of this funk you’re in.” He pointed a finger at his friend’s eyebrows. “Really—frown lines buddy—makes ya look mean. See ya.”

  “Lake, hold up there.” Sam loped off down the sidewalk after her.

  What was his friend thinking? That he should make nice with Lake McDonald? Hawk watched them, rubbing at the frown on his forehead.

  To be honest with himself, he’d been so concerned about Elle this morning, he could have jumped to the wrong conclusion. Very possible. A growl of frustration rumbled in his throat. If so, at the minimum, she deserved an apology.

  When had he become so unreasonable? His grandfather hadn’t raised him like this. He’d always considered himself to be fair-minded—magnanimous even. Where was that?

  So, now Lake McDonald could add jerk to everything else she thought about him. Yeah, he’d been in rare form where she was concerned. Had he let her explain anything? No. Finding Elle injured on the road—he cringed inwardly as he replayed the scene. She’d tried to explain things. He hadn’t let her get a word in edgewise.

  And just now—in the diner—assuming she was a friend of Colter’s?

  That saying about assuming? Yeah, he could be the poster-boy for that one.

  He rolled his shoulder and exhaled slowly, trying to release some tension. So far, he’d been wrong about pretty much everything concerning Lake McDonald. He rubbed at the two-day’s stubble on his jaw in frustration. She hadn’t hit Elle. And she had still helped. Even hating him—she’d still helped.

  His mind mounted a futile defense. After chasing that geologist off the ranch yesterday morning, he’d been in rare form. They guy was trying to get core samples from the old mine—again. Between that, the lack of sleep and the abuse his body—and mind—had sustained trying to get to that hiker—or the pieces that were left—last week—

  He issued a clumsy prayer—It’s been tough lately. I know it’s not much of an excuse. You know I want simple. Seems You have other things in mind. Help me cope. Thanks for Elle. I know she has a lot of people to help yet.

  In his heart, he repeated the pledge he had been making since he was a teenager. If it’s Your will—I will. The two failed rescues flashed to mind. I don’t understand . . . Give me the strength . . .

  Somber, he watched the scene down the street as Sam opened the door to the sheriff’s cruiser for Lake. As they drove away, Hawk knew what he had to do—how to go about it was a different story.

  Could he straighten things out? Right now, it seemed next to impossible.

  He’d pick up Elle, head back to Shadow, take Sam’s suggestion—pound on some metal—and figure it out.

  ***

  It was a welcome turn of events when Sam offered to help her retrieve the Jeep. After a couple miles of amicable small talk about the weather, more pressing questions bubbled to the surface.

  “So, what’s his deal anyway?” she asked, looking at the road ahead and trying to keep her cool.

  Sam didn’t look surprised by her question.

  “Whose deal, Hawk’s or Colter’s?”

  “Well, both I guess—if you don’t mind me asking—seeing as how I have evidently stepped in the middle of something pretty stinky.”

  Sam gave a sideways smirk.

  “Yeah, it’s stinky all right . . . and the smell’s blowing in from Colter’s direction. Thing is,” he lifted one hand from the wheel motioning, “you can’t arrest a person for having what you think are ‘evil intentions’. Oh, don’t get me wrong, we’re all sure he has designs on the old mine. He’s been asking a lot of questions around town, brought in geologists and surveyors, and he’s purchased property just outside the conservancy property next to Hawk’s. That, and quite a conversation Suzanne overheard in the café, between Colter and some of his cronies—but, he has yet to do something other than be a major pain in the— Sorry.”

  Lake smiled, then shook her head wondering, “What about trespassers? Couldn’t you arrest them?”

  “I could—if that’s what Hawk wanted. But, tying them to Colter might be a little tricky. Take you for instance.”

  Lake winced.

  “You accidentally wandered onto Hawk’s land. They would say the same. It would take a lot of time and money to pursue. Hawk hasn’t shown any interest in doing that—yet. He’s fed-up with chasing them off, though. You won’t get to John Colter that way. Nope, I figure we’ll have to wait him out. Either he’ll get tired of running into walls or he’ll make a bigger move.”

  “Why is he so sure there’s gold there anyway?”

  Sam negotiated a particularly tight curve with a stunning view—and a deathly drop—before answering her question.

  “Rumor has it, he managed to get a geologist in there who brought out a promising ore sample. That, and well, greed drives people to think and do stupid things. He’s greedy. From most reports that old mine has been played out since, well, forever.” He frowned and shook his head. “Gold or no gold, it’s basically a death trap. It’s cost more than one person their life. No one knows that better than Hawk.”

  That turned her head. “What do you mean?”

  Sam glanced Lake’s way and continued, “Now that people are nosing around the mine again, Hawk wants to have it permanently sealed. Eliminate the problem once and for all. Implode the shaft under his property. But the permit process to do that takes forever. Especially with explosives and the fact that, while most of the mine lies under Hawk’s property, the actual entrance kind of straddles the property line with the Barnes’s land. Some weird old survey glitch. She needs be on board too. Mineral rights and a whole slew of other legal stuff. So far, she’s been reluctant. You’d think—” His sentence dropped off, but he shook his head, continuing to stare at the road ahead.

  “What did you mean; No one knows that better than Hawk?”

  His frown deepened and he hesitated for a moment, as if considering how to proceed.

  “Hawk’s father sent him up here, after his wife—Hawk’s mother died. He was eight or nine. His mom had cancer. After she died, his dad pretty much fell apart—booze and pills. Things went downhill fast. Sent Hawk up here to live with his wife’s father. Yeah, his dad really hit the skids.” Sam shook his head. “Sad deal. Anyway, Hawk became friends with a kid, Joey Barnes, who lived on the place next to his grandfather’s. Joey’s mother, Monica, still lives up there.”

  Sam inhaled deeply. “I didn’t know Hawk very well at the time, but I remember it all from the news and at school. They were out looking for Joey’s dog. Couldn’t find him anywhere. Then, they came across tracks by the mine. They both knew better than to go in there . . . but two nine-year-old boys worried about a dog . . .” He shook his head.

  Lake cringed. She pretty much figured out what was coming next.

  “There was a cave-in. Part of the ceiling
collapsed. Joey was hit by a timber support. They figured it probably killed him right away. Hawk’s leg was caught under the same timber. Took a day to locate them. Almost another day to get them out. Hawk could see Joey the whole time. He never talked about it. I don’t think he’s gone near the old mine since.”

  He tilted a glance at her. “Guess it’s not too hard to figure why he got involved with GRRR. He’s been pretty beat up on the last couple of calls. Still sore I think—more ways than physical. After your folks, well, there was that hiker.”

  “Humph. Maybe he’ll figure out he’s no good at it—give it up, quit ruining people’s lives, find another profession.”

  Sam’s exhale spoke his disappointment. “Lake, I know you’ve been through a lot, but . . . Hawk’s not… well, he’s my best friend. I’d trust him with my life.” He gave up trying to convince her as the jeep came into view. He shrugged. “There’s your Jeep.”

  ***

  Lake swallowed her next comment—out of respect for Sam—but, she had to admit—her last statement about Matthews—had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She thanked Sam and hurried to the Jeep.

  Driving back, she distracted herself with the question of what to make for supper. River was due home in an hour and she needed to come up with something. Hamburgers and a veg should do tonight. Good thing he wasn’t a picky eater. Was he the perfect kid, or what? If she could only be half as good a “mom” as he was a kid . . .

  Hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from circling back to her earlier conversation with Sam. Of course, he would be sympathetic toward his friend—being old high-school football buddies and all.

  But, this new information Sam provided about Hawk Matthews rolled round and round in her head until it ached. A nagging feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on, lingered.

  She had to keep in mind that Sam’s viewpoint was skewed. The sheriff was a nice guy, but . . . these small towns . . . everybody knows everybody else and everybody else’s brother. Stick up for each other. They obviously couldn’t see Matthews as clearly as she could—as an unbiased newcomer.

  Still mulling as she opened the door to the studio apartment, she headed straight for the little kitchen and pulled out the old, cast-iron skillet, handed down from her grandmother. As she mixed egg, onion, salt and pepper, and her secret ingredient—Worcestershire sauce into the hamburger meat, she mixed the events of the past two days in her mind. It always came down to the truth. Was she the only one able to figure Hawk Matthews out?

  Fear. Plain old fear. He was scared that night and it cost her parents their lives. A truth, it seemed, a lot of people in this town didn’t want to acknowledge.

  ***

  John Colter took his time finishing his coffee at Suzanne’s that afternoon, even ordered another cup while he contemplated the interesting little scene that had played out in front of him.

  So, Matthews and the McDonald woman were at odds. Hmm. Another bit of potentially useful information to aid him in his quest to acquire the mine. Matthews had the sheriff in his back pocket. Just his luck they were friends. Everyone around here was so enamored of Matthews. Big hero. But lately, he’d gathered some doubters. Evidently Lake McDonald was one of them.

  Years of experience pushing people told him Matthews was close to losing his cool. Maybe he could use this “Lake” to turn the tide in his favor. Ha. This could be good.

  He gathered information, that’s what he did—and was good at it. But his real specialty was putting it all together in one giant chess game to position his king—King Colter.

  His gut told him this new pawn in the game could be a powerful piece if moved correctly. Maybe work her all the way across the board and turn her into his queen. Put Matthews in checkmate. He smiled silently at his analogy and stirred a fourth packet of sugar into his coffee.

  Lake McDonald. She was as beautiful as her namesake, and twice as icy. Maybe he’d take a shot at making her boil. He smiled, then downed another slurp of the syrup he’d concocted.

  FIVE

  Cooler Meltdown

  T

  hat’s what he was talking about. With a loud thunk, Hawk stacked the last piece of walnut on the pile accumulating at the back of the studio, provoking a sharp bark from Elle, who was recuperating on a blanket across the room, under the worktable. The planks would come in handy for future bases. Walnut made a beautiful base when sanded and oiled. While he often used oak or pine for copper works, he was especially partial to the blend of a stainless-steel piece on a walnut base.

  Hawk grabbed the blue chambray shirt he’d tossed on the metal armature of what would someday become a copper elk. Pulling the shirt over sore muscles, he buttoned a couple buttons and walked to the middle of the studio.

  Sore muscles aside, it was good to get the place organized again, even if it was frustration that pushed him to it. Maybe he’d catch some decent sleep tonight. The first piece was nearly ready for the Denver show—time to clear space for the next. He’d promised two pieces to Wilderness Wild for the yearly benefit auction. The way things were going, he wished he’d only promised one—seeing as how his muse had deserted him of late—and hadn’t turned up under any of the studio debris. But, he was a man of his word and it was for a cause he believed in. He’d make it happen.

  Some of his current problems came with the territory. Blessed with a highly visual imagination—and memory—were a great asset when sculpting—not so great trying to erase images of the broken bodies of victims you were unable to help. First, the McDonalds, then, that hiker.

  Sure, training had taught him this could happen—and ways to deal. But—the reality of clearing his head of images that appeared, unbidden, in the middle of the night--that was proving to be a different story.

  He’d always regrouped in the studio. That’s what he needed—get back into the zone. Concentrating on a new design or just making some noise, physically working the metal—always centered him—or had until recently.

  Today felt good. He surveyed the studio. Yeah, the answer was here someplace.

  Sculpting had grabbed ahold of him as a teenager and never let go. Thoughts flooded back to where it all started—to the art center class his grandfather had enrolled him in—somehow recognizing it might be a good fit for his troubled grand-teen. It saved him. Figured the Lord led him to it through his grandfather—and he would be ever grateful. Sculpting let him express things he never could have spoken—even with a million words.

  And lately, the words he did try were all wrong anyway. Yes, he had frustrations. They swamped him every time he thought about Lake.

  He slipped a quilted cover from his latest work—a stylized stainless-steel cougar lying on a polished walnut ledge. The sleek, flowing curves from toe to tail were slowed only by brow, front paws and a few angular muscles. A much-needed feeling of satisfaction washed over him as he considered it, feeling it captured the powerful, yet sleek essence of the animal.

  Good to focus on a project that had worked.

  Running a hand over the big metal cat, he recalled the Thomas Browne quote “All things are artificial, for nature is the art of God.” Nature is the art of God. The Ultimate Artist. Yeah, he celebrated that with his art. In a way, it was his own kind of prayer of praise.

  Love of the wilderness permeated his work. This country was at the core of him—part of him—heart and soul. Who he was—is—will be. If he could write poetry about it he would. But he couldn’t. His poems were hewn of metal—his verses—steel, bronze and copper—layered with patina and bolted to polished walnut.

  Fortunately, others felt the same way. Blessed with many fans and few critics, it enabled him to keep on doing the work he loved—and support causes important to him—like GRRR. Like Wilderness Wild. But critics there were. A few called his work too abstract. They just didn’t get it. He attempted to capture a spirit … an essence. All he had to say to his critics— “Get a camera. Take a picture.”

 
Maybe from now on, he’d suggest they hire Lake McDonald.

  Speaking of pictures . . . Hawk looked to the worktable where he’d set the camera. Had it survived under the snowdrift where he and Elle found it?

  He gently pulled the protective fabric back up over the cougar as curiosity moved him to the camera. He should probably see if it still worked—maybe he’d checkout a few of the photos while he was at it. They might offer insight. See if the McDonald’s talents had been passed down to their daughter.

  A little mud and a few minor scuffs to the case appeared to be the only damage. He rubbed mud from the logo with his thumb. A newer model by the looks of it—not cheap. Looked like the case had kept the water out. With a camera of this caliber, a waterproof case was a smart investment. He turned it over in his hands, examining, figuring out how it worked. He had a decent camera, but nothing with all these bells and whistles.

  Elle wandered over and started sniffing it. He chuckled and held the case out to her for a better sniff. The furry snoop always insisted upon sticking her nose in the middle of anything she sensed concerned him. Hawk let her satisfy herself. After about ten seconds, she gave a satisfied snort.

  “Yeah, girl. You remember her. Little Red Riding Hood was afraid of you.” He gave an affectionate rub to Elle’s head. “You big, bad wolf-dog.”

  “Grrrwoooof.”

  A push of a button later, the screen on the back of the camera lit up. Hmm, good case. Let’s see . . . menu. He accessed the list and began working his way through the photos.

  An hour and a half later, with Elle lost in sleep at his feet, one stunned sculptor emerged from his examination with a new respect for a certain intriguing photographer and her art.

  Good job, Hawk. That’s where jumping to conclusions will get you, he reprimanded himself. Right off a cliff. No one’s fault but your own. The dumbfounded expressions Lake McDonald displayed at his accusations the other day had been honest. She must think him a real piece of work.