Chapter 2

2

What was he doing with his life?

Tanner Oakley finished resetting the iron foothold trap and lifted his face into the fading afternoon sunshine. After the cold morning, the high-altitude rays felt good on his skin. But his fingers were still stiff, his back sore, and his feet weary.

Was he growing soft after his weeks out East?

He stood and stretched, letting himself take in the grand view of Gold Bend River. It was wide and rocky, with fast-flowing rapids churning up foam and spray. The riverbanks, thick with Douglas fir and ponderosa pine, provided an undisturbed habitat for the sage grouse, blue grouse, and marmots that were plentiful during the autumn months.

Unlike some trappers, who had no regard for the natural cycle of life, he was careful not to kill animals needlessly and only during the proper hunting seasons. And after the past five years of living in the wilderness, he'd become an expert at hunting and trapping.

But all that experience didn't seem to matter today. Nothing seemed to matter. Not even the majesty of the wilderness all around him.

The question echoed through him again: what was he doing with his life? Especially now that he was done searching for his long-lost family.

The disappointment from his failed mission in New York City swelled again, as it had often during the train ride back to Colorado earlier in the week. He'd gone east with his brother Ryder over six weeks ago, hoping to investigate more into their past, but he'd run into dead ends with every path he'd taken.

Having grown up as an orphan who knew nothing about his birth family, Tanner had long desired to find out more, even after the Oakley family had adopted Ryder and him. In fact, the need had grown so desperate over the past years that he'd thought of little else. Back in January, after his adoptive pa had died, he'd finally hired an investigator with his fur-trapping and trail-guide earnings.

The investigator had narrowed down wagon train parties on the Oregon Trail that had been attacked by Natives, because that was all he and Ryder knew—that they'd been traveling west with their parents, and their wagon train had been attacked by Natives.

Even that knowledge hadn't been entirely certain. It had come secondhand from a pair of cowboys who had delivered him and Ryder to a Chicago orphanage. The two had claimed to have picked them up from a tribe of Kickapoo in Kansas.

No one was sure how long they'd lived with the Kickapoo—probably not too long, according to the cowboys. Maybe a few months. For lack of names or other identifying information, the orphanage workers had named him and Ryder after the cowboys who'd brought them in.

Tanner only had fleeting memories of his parents and the time before the attack—memories of snuggling on a lap or listening to a violin being played. He had vague recollections of a kind man and woman who had both been young and earnest. But he'd only been a toddler—had just turned three.

Ryder, on the other hand, had been five, and Tanner had never been able to understand how his brother couldn't recall a single detail of their lives—not even their names. But for the longest time, Ryder hadn't been able to remember anything.

They hadn't liked the Chicago orphanage. After living there for six months, they'd convinced the staff that they were from New York City and had family there, even though Ryder hadn't known where they were from any more than he'd known their names. But he had suspected they were from the East and not Chicago.

Having been taken to New York by train, they'd then been shuffled from one overcrowded orphanage to the next. Somehow Ryder had managed to keep them from getting separated over the years. Through all the changes and upheaval, Ryder had taken care of Tanner, had been like a parent.

Even so, Tanner had lived with the frustration of not knowing about his past. And during the last year, he'd gotten angry at Ryder for not trying to discover more too. But Ryder hadn't cared, didn't need the resolution in the same way.

Tanner could admit he'd been belligerent toward Ryder about the whole issue. But being the good brother that he was, Ryder had stuck with him and loved him regardless.

Recently, Ryder had a breakthrough, remembering the day of the wagon train attack and recalling some names. He'd only been able to list first names, learning that his given name was Edward and Tanner's was Donny—probably a shortened form of Donald. They thought their mother's name was Sarah and their father's possibly Hawthorne. While the information had been something, it hadn't been enough to make any progress in the investigation. Not without a last name, and that was something Ryder still couldn't remember, maybe never would.

Tanner had finally given up the hope that he'd ever find out who his family really was.

He rubbed a hand against the kink in his back, but no amount of pushing or prodding could get rid of the restless knot that had formed deep inside. Now that he was no longer searching for his family, what would he do?

He'd returned to his cabin along Eagle's Nest Lake yesterday and had planned to resume his life. But he'd been restless all night and now again all day.

He glanced upriver in the direction of the lake and his cabin. Was it time to move on to a new place?

Lots of mountain men grew discontent after a few years in the same area and moved on for the next adventure. Maybe that was what he needed to do. Nothing was tying him down, especially since Ryder was no longer around.

At the crackle of brush along the riverbank trail to the south, his hand slid to the rifle hanging from his shoulder. Someone—or some creature—was coming.

Tanner silently stepped out of sight into the shadows of a fir tree, and in the same move, he readied his rifle.

The footsteps on the path were too soft and the tread too fast for a human. The heaviness was that of a larger creature. Perhaps a deer?

His stomach chose that moment to rumble. He'd brought fresh provisions from town to his cabin, but he hadn't been back all day. And now, with sunset but an hour or so away, maybe he'd be able to shoot a buck and feast on fresh venison.

With a slow peek around the fir tree, he lifted his rifle and aimed down the path.

In the next instant, the creature broke through the low brush and bounded closer. Not a deer, but a small-sized wolf with a gray snout and white-and-gray markings on its body.

"Smoke?" Tanner lowered his rifle.

At the sight of Tanner, the creature halted, panting, its tongue hanging out, and its chest heaving. Familiar gold eyes locked on to Tanner.

"What are you doing here?" Tanner scanned the woodland along the riverbank for any sign of Maisy. Usually, wherever Smoke was, Maisy was close by. The devoted wolf never strayed far from her.

Smoke turned and paced a few feet back on the trail but didn't disappear from sight.

Maisy had been the bright spot in Tanner's mountain-living over the past few years, like starlight in an otherwise dark sky. Even if she was beautiful, with her red hair and blue-green eyes, she'd always been too young for him to think about romantically, and he'd done his best to treat her like a sibling, although he wasn't above flirting and teasing with her.

Through their interactions, he'd grown to admire and respect her independence and intelligence. She was as savvy as a mountain man. She knew the trails well, could hunt any wild game, and foraged better than many Natives. Not only could she survive in the wild, but she was caring and compassionate to people and animals alike.

He searched the trail again. How long had it been? A month? Maybe two?

Although he'd thought about her and Nelly from time to time while he'd been out East, he hadn't worried about them—primarily because he was so confident in Maisy's abilities. She'd proven her wilderness know-how time and time again. And even though her father and Glenn were gone for long periods, she had Nelly to watch over her and keep her out of trouble.

Tanner shouldered his rifle and waited for the first sight of her, his breath catching in his chest with the anticipation of looking at her pretty face and into her stunning eyes.

Smoke was still in the same place, his gaze unwavering upon Tanner. And filled with urgency.

A small alarm began to ring inside Tanner. "Where's Maisy?" He directed his question to Smoke as if the wolf could somehow answer him.

The creature just started down the trail, this time disappearing into the brush.

"Maisy?" Tanner called. He waited several heartbeats for her reply, but when it didn't come, the alarm inside grew louder.

He took several steps down the path but then stopped. Smoke might just be out hunting, as he did from time to time. That didn't necessarily mean something had happened to Maisy. He couldn't let his thoughts immediately jump to the worst conclusions.

But then again, Smoke had never come directly to him without Maisy before. And the creature had never been so winded or so anxious.

Maybe he should head out to the Merritts' place for a visit. He'd been planning to do so soon—in a couple of days, after he'd had the chance to set his traps and settle back in.

Tanner glanced through the branches to the sky, which was changing to a darker blue as evening drew near. There wasn't enough daylight left for him to make the trek to Arapahoe Valley. He'd have to head back to his cabin tonight and leave in the morning.

He turned and started toward where he'd tied his gelding.

A yipping from down the trail echoed in the air. It was Smoke. Was there an urgency to the wolf's barking?

Tanner halted. What if Smoke had come for him because something had happened to either Maisy or Nelly?

How could he ignore the wolf?

Tanner hesitated only a moment longer before continuing on his way to his horse, anxiety lengthening each step. His spotted Oakley was waiting right where he'd tethered it. Tanner wasted no time in mounting and starting downriver. It only took him half a minute to come upon Smoke, standing in the center of the trail and facing him with an impatient look—if that were possible for a wolf.

At Tanner's approach, Smoke bounded forward into a run and disappeared again down the trail. Tanner knew he'd never be able to keep up. His mount was used to the rough terrain, but wolves were naturally nimble and could outrace most other mountain animals.

Regardless, Tanner pushed his gelding hard, his own urgency growing with each passing mile. When the sun disappeared behind the peaks and darkness crowded in, he finally had to slow down. Even then, however, he kept a steady pace, having trekked the mountain trails often enough in the dark to be able to navigate, especially because he had some moonlight to guide the way when he wasn't in the thick of the woods.

Smoke stayed well ahead, halting once in a while to wait for Tanner to catch up before bounding ahead. When they finally reached Arapahoe Gully, Smoke began to lead him up the sharp trail that led to the Merritt cabin. It was in a beautiful area overlooking Gold Bend River and the valley, but in Tanner's opinion, Cleveland Merritt had been a fool to build on the hillside rather than down in the river valley where the land was level for growing crops and plentiful with water.

But Cleveland wasn't usually one to stop and think about anyone but himself. He was a decent fellow with good morals—at least, for a mountain man. But Tanner didn't like that he dragged his womenfolk all around into such wild and untamed areas. Not only did it make life harder for them, but they were isolated and away from civilization.

Tanner dismounted and led his horse for the climb up the trail to the house. By the time he made the last turn, he passed Smoke. The creature had finally stopped and was sitting, his breathing heavy and his exhaustion palpable.

The wolf had brought him here. That had become clear enough during the past hours.

As Tanner nudged his horse up the last incline, he took in the position of the moon and tried to gauge the passing of time. He guessed he'd been riding hard for six or seven hours, and it was likely past midnight.

In the clearing ahead, the outline of the cabin came into view, even though it was shrouded in darkness by the tall pines that hovered around it. It was bigger than his own place, but not by much. And it was completely dark, without a sliver of light anywhere. But that was normal for the late hour. Why would the women use up precious oil or coal when they were slumbering?

He scanned the area, including the stable and shed behind the cabin, searching for anything unusual. He could make out pelts bundled in neat stacks under the overhang, along with horse feed and cut wood. Traps and rope dangled from the ceiling beams. A sack of chicken feed sat near a watering trough.

Everything appeared just as orderly as when he'd ridden away after his last visit in August.

But the horses were gone, which meant Cleveland and Glenn weren't home.

As Tanner halted just outside the cabin, he hesitated. Had he been foolish to follow the wolf? What if he knocked on the door only to wake up Maisy and Nelly?

Rather than disturb them, maybe he ought to bed down in the stable for the night.

Tanner sighed. He'd hurried all this way thinking something was wrong, and now he needed to reassure himself that all was well.

He approached the door and rapped the wood softly. If he got lucky, maybe he'd only wake Nelly.

She'd been expecting a baby when he left. Maybe she'd given birth to the child by now.

He waited, but the silence was eerie.

After several more seconds, he knocked again, this time louder. He pressed his ear to the door, but he still couldn't hear any movement inside.

A scolding squeak from a nearby tree startled him.

He had his revolver out before he realized it and before he saw the glint of eyes staring down at him from the barren limb of a dead fir tree next to the stable.

"Roscoe?" he whispered.

The creature replied with another squeak, as if to confirm his identity.

Why wasn't Nelly answering the door?

The strange unease he'd been feeling for the past hours came rushing back. He knocked again, pounding loudly enough to awaken anyone slumbering inside.

He waited only a few seconds before opening the door.

Darkness greeted him, and a chill hung in the air, the stove unlit.

"Hello?" he called, abandoning the idea of not waking anyone up. "Maisy, Nelly?"

More silence greeted him.

Was no one home?

He crossed to where he knew the table sat, then fumbled in the dark, locating the lantern that was usually at the center. It took him a moment to light it, but once the flame was going, he lifted the lantern and glanced around.

At the form of a body in the bed, he jolted forward, his heart racing with dread. Maisy. What if something had happened to her?

As he reached the bedside, the light spilled over Nelly's pale face. It wasn't Maisy.

But what if it had been?

He'd taken for granted that she'd be okay here, that she was strong enough to survive. But what if he'd been wrong?

He placed the lantern on the barrel that served as a bedside table, then hovered his fingers above Nelly's lips, hoping to feel breath. But there was nothing. He moved his fingers to her neck, trying to find a pulse, but she was clearly gone. Her body was thin and her stomach flat, which meant she'd had her baby.

He scanned the cabin but could find no sign of the infant—no tiny clothing, no drying diapers, no little blankets.

The newborn must have died, and now Nelly had died too, possibly recently.

His pulse began to tap hard with understanding. Maisy had probably gone after help. That's why she wasn't here. But why hadn't she stopped by his place? Maybe she had and he hadn't been back yet. Or maybe she'd been in too much of a hurry to get to town and hadn't taken the time to visit.

No, with the situation so grave, she would have sought him out and asked to borrow his horse for the remainder of the trip into Breckenridge. So why hadn't she? And Smoke. The wolf would have stayed with her the whole trip. And he hadn't.

Tanner stalked back to the open door and peered around the dark yard. There was no sign of her anywhere. He spun and took in the cabin—the same as always, nothing out of the ordinary... except for Nelly's lifeless body.

There was no other explanation for Maisy's absence except that she'd gotten into trouble of some kind.

He palmed the back of his neck, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each passing moment. A dozen scenarios clamored through his head, each one horrible. What if she'd gotten caught in a trap? Or mauled by a wild animal? Or attacked by a thief?

He dropped his hand and slapped the doorpost in frustration. Why in the blazes had Cleveland left the women here alone? Why would any sane man leave women to fend for themselves? It wasn't right. If Cleveland wanted to be a mountain man, he shouldn't have gotten married and had children.

That's why Tanner hadn't settled down with a woman yet. Because his wandering lifestyle wasn't right for a wife and family. At least he had the good sense to see the truth and live by it.

Regardless, he had to find Maisy. He'd honed his tracking skills over the years, and never had he been gladder to know how to track than right now.

A wolf's yipping echoed from a distance. Was Smoke still back on the trail? Was the wolf trying to lead him to Maisy?

A shiver raced up Tanner's spine. Yes, Smoke had been guiding him the whole time and still was. Tanner could only pray he wasn't too late.