Choices

Chapter 2

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Deeks' eyes lingered on the gently rising hills behind the cabin for some time. He thought about following the two kids, but couldn't think how he would explain himself if he actually caught up with them. Soldier would resent him for the intrusion, and he didn't want the boy to think he distrusted him. George had tried to warn him earlier, telling him the kid had started "taking the bit in his teeth". It was his way of saying that Soldier had become a little wild and not as obedient as he used to be, but like all kids of a certain age, he was "feeling his oats." The old-fashioned sayings had made him chuckle, but he'd thoroughly enjoyed hearing them, especially because they were so George-like. Deeks never tired of listening to him dispense his well-earned wisdom. Elan had just grunted when he'd heard him, saying something in Arapaho that Uncle Jim scolded him lightly about with a smile on his face. He wondered if Elan would get mad at him for letting Soldier go off with Molly, another reason he was considering following them.

The small buckskin mare suddenly nuzzled his shoulder and he turned, finally noticing the drop in temperature. The weather had been unseasonably warm since they'd arrived…an early spring George had called it. A very warm one no one had expected. But now, heavy grey clouds crowded into the valley, hanging so low he felt as if he could reach up and touch them. The temperature drop had been sudden and he could almost smell the snow about to fall. He wasn't sure if he should take the two mares back into the barn, and he glanced back up toward the hills, worried about Soldier and Molly being caught in the coming storm. Finally he took hold of Peaches' halter, and walked her over to the trough to get the chestnut.

"Come on, my beautiful pregnant ladies," Deeks said. "You need to take care of yourselves and those puppy horses you're carrying."

By the time he had them back in their stalls he was feeling the cold seep through the thick flannel shirt he was wearing. Sheila had discovered a bucket of oats and he had a hard time pulling her away. Once he got her attention he was able to lead her out of the barn, firmly closing the doors behind him. They walked over to the cabin and he went inside to see if there was a heavy coat he could borrow. Happily, one hung on a hook just inside the door, along with a dark blue wool scarf. He quickly slipped on the toasty, fleece lined coat, and stuffed the wool scarf in one of the pockets. Soldier knew these hills and how quickly the weather could change this time of year, but neither kid had looked prepared for the cold or for snow. Now he had good reason to follow them. Deeks pulled the boy's winter coat off the rack, and yanked a Pendleton blanket off a chair and headed back out. After tying them both behind his saddle he pulled the scarf out of his pocket and wrapped it loosely around his neck. As he mounted his mare, the first flecks of snow began to float down out of the sky. The view down the valley began to soften with the snowfall, and the three yearlings in the pasture were pacing back and forth, tossing their heads. They looked as if they were enjoying themselves, but he knew he should put them in the barn with the two mares. It would cost him time, but he didn't know how long he'd be gone, and he wasn't about to risk Elan's small herd.

By the time he'd rounded them all up and got them into the remaining stalls with some fresh oats to snack on, the snowfall had become heavy and obscured the lower end of the valley. The air was sharp and icy, and he wished he'd worn the grey winter Stetson George had given him all those years ago. The old straw one he had on was doing nothing to keep his head warm. Sheila shook the large flakes of snow from her mane as he mounted and turned her toward the rise where he'd last seen Soldier and Molly. A stillness had settled over the hills that surrounded Elan's little valley. He heard no birds or any other sounds, except for Sheila snuffling as he urged her up the hill to the ridge. Her breath came out in visible clouds that curled up around her head. Pausing, he looked out over the cabin and the grove of lodgepole pines beyond, just able to see the top of the rocky monolith he had started for that morning. The trees looked dark and moody against the falling snow, the rugged granite tower hovering above them like a wayward ghost.

"Awesome," he whispered, wishing Kensi was riding with him.

As he clucked for Sheila to move along, he realized he had no idea where the two kids might be heading. It made him feel a little stupid. He wasn't a tracker like his wife, but felt he at least had to try. It was getting colder, the snow now mixed with sharper particles of ice as the wind picked up. He wrapped the scarf more tightly around his neck and kept going. He could only hope Soldier had turned around and was heading back. If he was lucky, he would run into them.

He followed the saddleback ridge, which eventually led to a small plateau dusted with snow. Wildflowers nodded, their heads bending to the will of the wet snow. He was able to see barely discernible tracks across it to the trees beyond and he was encouraged, and kicked Sheila into a trot. He'd been riding for about an hour and was winding through a stand of aspen when he heard a branch crack off to his right.

"Soldier?" His shout sounding muted, so he yelled again.

A dark shape emerged through the white-barked trees and whipping snow, the man's horse jumping sideways when a branch spilled white powder down on its nose. He recognized the gravelly voice of Purty Kemp as he fired off a couple of curses. Deeks waited while he got the animal under control, trying to decide how to play this encounter. The man hadn't left at all, but had hung around. Deeks wasn't happy about that, but he was hoping the man might have some idea where the kids were.

"You looking for 'em too?" The man asked, surprising him.

"They aren't exactly dressed for the weather," Deeks replied.

"That girl's got no sense at all," Kemp replied. "But, that Indian kid shoulda known better."

"Why don't you just call him Soldier," Deeks said. "That way you won't piss me off anymore than you already have."

"You know where you're going?" He asked, ignoring Deeks' comment.

"Lost their tracks in the trees," he replied, trying to sound somewhat knowledgeable, but the man snorted at his comment, his disbelief apparent in his smile.

"Looks like she might be headed home," Kemp said, and turned his horse to follow an opening in the aspen grove. "I'll send that kid home when I find 'em."

"Think I'll tag alone," Deeks stated, urging his mare after him.

"Whatever."

It wasn't long before they cleared the trees, and Kemp pulled up at the top of a ridge that sloped down to a wide, rock strewn creek swollen with runoff. The banks were icy with clumps of snow, the water running fast and dark and clear. The surrounding land was open down to the creek, but through the veil of falling snow, Deeks was able to make out fingers of dark timber that filled the draws between the ridges on the other side. There was no sign of the kids.

The wind had scoured the slope below them of most of its snow, and it whipped icy bits into the faces of both of them and their horses. Sheila turned away, walking in a circle before backing away from the edge.

"Better control that mare," Purty Kemp said. "She slips going down, you both could end up with a few broken bones. Might have to shoot her, and you…to put you out of your misery."

"You're not a real warm and fuzzy guy, are you Purty?" Deeks said. "You ever had a conversation with someone when you didn't threaten them?"

"Just keeping you on your toes," he replied. "Heard some of the men in town say you're a California boy. La La Land."

"Your point?"

"Watch yourself out here, city boy," he warned. "This is real cowboy country, not some beach with girls in bikinis."

"You got a problem with girls in bikinis?"

"No, but I got a problem with amateurs like you thinking they know what the hell they're doing on a horse in the back country."

Deeks didn't want to admit the man was right, so he didn't say anything, and Purty Kemp huffed out another laugh.

"If you're coming, you go down that slope first," Kemp said. "Don't want you and your mare tumbling down on top of me."

Deeks pulled Sheila around none too gently, and she snorted her disapproval. He saw her ears prick forward as she eyed the slope, but then coolly started down slowly, her head low. They moved down the slope at an angle and when the slope evened out halfway down, they cut back the other way, Sheila carefully navigating her way down. He turned to look back up when he heard Purty Kemp whoop. Deeks halted to watch as the man and his horse burst over the edge and plunged straight down toward the creek. They skidded past them, the horse practically sitting on its haunches as they slid and scrabbled down the steep slope.

"Showoff," Deeks muttered, as he and Sheila continued their slow traverse of the hillside.

The slope gentled out several yards from the water. A line of scrub brush choked with snow filled most of the bank before ending at the rocky edge of the creek. Kemp jerked back on his reins and they slid to a stop, the horse anxious after their crazy descent. Deeks could see the horse was agitated, it's eyes wide open and wild. Sheila whinnied and brought her head up, stopping abruptly. A covey of grouse suddenly flushed from the bushes right in front of Kemp's horse causing the animal to leap sideways toward the creek and stumble into the water, screaming as it fell on top of its rider. The horse immediately scrambled up and bolted across the creek. Deeks urged his mare down the remaining slope and jumped off. Purty Kemp looked to be unconscious and the strong current was pulling him downstream. Deeks waded in, quickly finding himself up to his thighs in the cold rushing water. The bottom was rocky and unstable, and he had trouble staying on his feet as he tried to reach the man. When the creek bottom dropped away, he floundered briefly, finally just lunging toward Kemp as he floated face down in the water. Deeks grabbed two handfuls of his khaki coat and pulled him face up, tugging him over toward the edge of the creek. He went under a couple of times as he struggled with the weight of the man in the freezing water, but managed to get one hand under his arm as he found a foothold on the creek bed. Breathing hard, he was finally able to drag him over the rocks and up onto the snowy bank. Blood streaked from a cut on Kemp's forehead, something he'd have to deal with later. With his teeth chattering, Deeks felt for a pulse, blowing out his breath when he didn't find one. Ignoring his own chills, he started CPR, rolling Kemp over on his side when he suddenly began to cough up water.

"Stay still. You're bleeding," Deeks huffed out. "I'm going for a blanket."

"Where's my fuckin' horse?" Kemp managed to choke out.

"Your fuckin' horse ran away," Deeks yelled over his shoulder as he trotted back to where Sheila waited patiently.

Both of them were soaked through, and Deeks knew if they didn't get warm and dry soon, hypothermia was a real possibility. He walked Sheila back to Kemp, who had assumed a fetal position with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He was shivering badly.

"You break anything?" Deeks asked as he covered him with the Pendleton blanket.

"Mighta broke my elbow. Just glad I didn't break a leg," he whispered, burrowing into the blanket.

"Me too. Then I would have to shoot you, right?" Deeks quipped with a grin.

"Real funny," he grumped. "Hard to picture a hippie dude like you shootin' anybody."

Deeks stared hard at the man, and then laughed and shook his head, unwilling to give him any personal information just yet.

"Since you're the cowboy here, I'm hoping you know how to make a fire without a match," Deeks said as he stood over him shivering uncontrollably.

"I got a lighter in my jeans," the man replied. "Think you can make one with that, beach boy?"

"Sure, asshole. We make 'em that way on the beach in La La Land all the time," Deeks said, feeling the remains of his earlier anger.

He stalked away through the accumulating snow, deeply chilled as his wet clothes began to stiffen. He saw a large, skeletal old cottonwood standing sentinel not far from them, it's branches just beginning to bud. It stood close in the lee of the hill, and one of its huge limbs had peeled away from the main trunk some time ago. The broken limb lay at an angle, the space beneath it offering a rough shelter of sorts. He quickly gathered some of the rotted branches scattered around and made a pile for a fire before heading back to get Purty Kemp. The cut on the man's forehead had quit bleeding, but it was deep and he probably had a concussion. Deeks realized how pissed he still was at the man for being an idiot, racing down that steep slope just to show how tough he was. It had cost them both. Now he had to deal with him instead of looking for Soldier. He knew the men of the Atwood family would have taught the boy how to survive in the backcountry, especially Elan. He was a former Army Ranger. He never would have left any such possibility to chance. That knowledge made him feel slightly better. Now all he had to do was keep Purty Kemp and himself from freezing to death. He just hoped the man knew where the hell they were and how to get out of here once they got dry.

"Can you walk?" Deeks asked.

"Where we going?" The man asked, sounding hoarse and exhausted.

"Found a makeshift shelter under an old cottonwood," he replied. "There's wood for a fire."

Kemp groaned as he pushed himself up, keeping his left arm close to his body, favoring his broken elbow. Deeks helped him to his feet, and caught him as he stumbled, but the man swore and pushed him away.

"Don't be an idiot," Deeks said sharply. "You fall on that elbow again and it's gonna hurt like holy hell."

"How the fuck would you know," the man griped.

"Trust me. I know."

It was all Deeks said as the man stumbled toward the cottonwood tree. He caught up Sheila's reins and they followed close beside him. The man reached for him once when he tripped, and Deeks wondered if he hadn't at least sprained something or tore a tendon. At least he hadn't broken a hip. Kemp's breathing was labored by the time they reached the old cottonwood, but he was able to crawl under the fallen limb on his own. Deeks started stacking the gathered wood for a bonfire as close to the opening as possible, looking forward to a roaring fire and some warmth. He broke up some of the smaller branches for kindling and turned to ask Kemp for the lighter.

"Gotta say…that's a pretty good looking bonfire," the man said as he handed over the lighter. "Hope it lights."

"Me too. Rubbing two sticks together isn't part of my repertoire."

"Mine either," Purty admitted.

It took a couple of tries, but the lighter finally flared and Deeks grinned and quickly lit the dead leaves and kindling, shoving the flaming bundle beneath the vertically stacked wood. The wood must have been quite old, because it caught quickly, the fire snapping as it curled up with the smoke. As the flames grew, Deeks stripped off his wet coat and jeans, draping them over a couple of branches close to the fire. He felt better now that he had his boots and soggy socks off, even though his feet were freezing.

"Can you give me a hand?" Kemp asked, sounding embarrassed as he struggled to take off his soaked jacket.

Deeks did as he asked, also pulling off his boots, but leaving him to manage his socks and jeans by himself. When he took his own shirt off, he heard Kemp swear softly. He turned to see the man looking at the faint scars that still remained on his body.

"Is that a bullet wound?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah. I got a couple of 'em," Deeks replied, turning back to stare into the fire.

"What about those scars on your arms?"

"Leave it alone, Kemp," Deeks warned. "We aren't buddies and I'm not interested in sharing war stories."

"Did you try to kill yourself?" He asked in a hushed voice, apparently unwilling to let it go.

"You should get out of that wet shirt or you'll catch pneumonia," Deeks said, hoping to distract the man.

"My mom used to tell us kids that," he replied slowly, making Deeks look over at him. "She killed herself when I was thirteen."

"I'm sorry," Deeks offered, surprised the man had shared something so personal.

"So did you? Try suicide?" The man asked softly, pointing at the thin scars along the inside of his lower arms.

"No."

"You mean someone else did that to you?"

Deeks nodded. "I didn't shoot myself either. Now let it alone."

"You don't look military. A cop maybe?" Kemp asked, and then grinned. "Nah…You sure as hell don't look like a cop either."

"I'm a Federal agent," Deeks finally said.

"No shit?"

Deeks didn't reply. He huddled as close to the fire as he could, staring out at the rugged wilderness, and checking a sky that was crowded with dull grey clouds still not empty of snow. The roar of the creek was a constant reminder of what had happened, and it darkened Deeks' mood even more than the unwanted questions. Kemp finally managed to scoot up beside him by the fire, groaning whenever he coughed.

"You break a rib?" Deeks finally asked, hoping he hadn't.

"Cracked, I think," he said quietly.

Deeks couldn't seem to shake the chills, having given the only blanket to Purty Kemp. Their makeshift dugout under the cottonwood limb was slowly warming, but not fast enough, since they were both essentially naked except for waterlogged skivvies. The snow continued to fall, but at least the tree and the hillside protected them somewhat from the wind.

"You should unsaddle your mare," Kemp suggested. "Use her saddle blanket to get warm."

"Good idea," Deeks said, wishing he'd thought of that earlier. "She'll probably never let me forget it though."

"She's a damn horse," he spit out. "Man, you're weird."

Deeks quickly began to unsaddle Sheila, finally pulling it off her back, and slinging the saddle over the end of the downed limb. He turned back and took the saddle blanket, but couldn't resist leaning into the big mare's warm body, absorbing as much of her heat as he could, wrapping his arm around her neck. She turned her head and huffed out a puff of warm air over his back making him smile and appreciate the old girl. He slung the warm, but very smelly blanket across his shoulders and moved quickly back under the big limb, sitting down cross-legged in front of the now roaring fire. Kemp had hooked his wet shirt on the end of a broken branch and was holding it out toward the fire. Deeks quickly followed his lead. Both shirts were soon steaming, and Deeks couldn't wait until it was dry enough to put on, anticipating the warmth.

"That damn horse ran off with my lunch," Kemp finally said. "You bring any food with you? I'm hungry as hell."

"Sorry. Wasn't planning on being out this long."

"Well, keep an eye out. We might spot a jack rabbit or one of those damn grouse," Kemp said. "Either one would be real tasty right about now."

Deeks was hungry too, but the thought of killing and field dressing a wild animal or bird didn't really appeal to him at all. He could almost hear Sam laughing at him, but he thought Callen would understand. Kemp must have sensed his uneasiness, and snorted out a laugh.

"You don't have a clue how to live off the land, do you?" He said.

"Nope. But I know where to find the best food trucks in LA."

"City boy."

"Hey! I'm not the one who went swimming in the creek."

Purty Kemp grunted with a sheepish grin and then went silent for a moment. "Thanks for pulling me out."

"You're welcome."

"I owe you."

"Yeah, you do," Deeks grinned at him, but Purty just nodded and stared at the fire. He didn't seem to be particularly happy about what that might mean.

The snow began to let up, giving Deeks some hope, but it would still be a difficult ride out of here with an injured man, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Sheila probably wasn't either if she had an opinion at all.

"Who owns that spread where I found you and the Indian kid…Soldier?" Kemp asked.

"Elan Hand."

"How'd you come to know that big fuckin' Arapaho?"

Deeks slammed his hand into Purty Kemp's throat and squeezed down hard. "We're brothers, asshole. And unless you want to walk home, I suggest you remember that."

"Shit, man," he managed to say when Deeks let him go.

Deeks got up and slipped on his shirt, not caring that it was still damp. He wanted out of here and away from Purty Kemp. His jeans weren't even close to dry, but he put them on anyway. His socks, which he'd laid out on a couple of flat stones were almost completely dry. Sitting on the cottonwood limb with his back to the man, he put them on. He wasn't sure if he was trembling with anger or because he was cold again. He yanked his boots off the branches he'd stuck them on, and stepped into each one in turn. Kemp noisily cleared his throat and Deeks glanced over at him.

"My dad hates Indians," the man said. "Won't do business with any of 'em. Won't even take a case if Indians are involved."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Never said why. It's just the way he is," he replied. "None of us question him, that's for sure."

"Well maybe you should," Deeks said.

"You ain't met my dad," he said. "He about had a stroke when he heard Molly talkin' about meeting an Indian kid. He talks real quiet when he's mad. Not that Molly listens to him anyway. She's too wild for her own good. He sent me to scare the boy off."

"How old were you when Molly was born?" Deeks asked, not sure he wanted to know.

"Thirteen."

The math wasn't that difficult, but he didn't ask any of the questions his answer brought to mind. It could just be a coincidence that Purty's mother killed herself the same year Molly was born. There certainly was reason for suspicion though, considering the timing. He suddenly felt sorry for Molly. Maybe the Kemp's were one big happy family, but he doubted it.

"Elan Hand's related to those Atwood's over on Little Jack Creek, ain't he?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Think my dad tried to buy a cutting horse from George Atwood when I was just a kid," Kemp said. "But Atwood refused to sell him one. Pissed my dad off big time, 'specially when he found out he had Arapaho blood."

Deeks just shook his head in disgust and finished saddling Sheila. "You ready to go?"

Sheila suddenly tried to pull the reins free of the branch she was tied to, clearly spooked. She huffed and snorted, looking up the creek to a pocket of blue spruce fronted by low growing willows along the creek. Deeks tied Sheila's reins more tightly to the branch, afraid she might bolt and leave them stranded. He heard Kemp swear softly and turned to see him struggling to get his pants on.

"What the hell is it?" Deeks asked.

"Might be a bear," he replied in hushed tones. "Dammit! Help me on with my shirt."

There was pain on his face as he tried to get his arm through the sleeve. Kemp had managed to get on his feet, but hadn't gotten his boots on. He wasn't putting much weight on his left foot either, hobbling around with a wild look in his eyes, when Deeks got to him. He helped him with his shirt, and noticed the man was panting heavily as he fumbled with his buttons.

"You got a rifle with you, right?" Kemp asked, half bent over.

"Yeah."

"Get it before your mare breaks free."

"Sonofabitch," Deeks whispered as he rushed to grab the rifle out of the scabbard.

Sheila was trembling, her ears pricked forward as she stared upstream. A deep-throated growl echoed off the hills, the unearthly sound rolling downstream with the rushing water. It gave him the chills. Then he smelled a musky odor, and immediately cocked the rifle when he saw the distant willows thrash from side to side as something big and heavy moved through them.

"Get your horse over behind the fire and tie her up tight," Kemp ordered gruffly, and Deeks didn't argue, handing the rifle to the man.

Sheila was so skittish he thought he might not be able to hold on to her, but he spoke softly to her like George had taught him, and she seemed to calm down a little. She let him lead her past the fire, but she danced sideways, continuing to look upstream. He tied her tightly to the strongest branch he could find before hurrying back to help Kemp limp over and lean back against the sturdy trunk of the cottonwood.

"Please tell me you're a good shot," Purty Kemp huffed out, handing back the rifle.

"You think I'll have to shoot him?" Deeks asked. "Maybe he'll just wander off."

"Dammit, city boy. The bears are just coming out of hibernation. They're a helluva lot hungrier than we are."

"Awesome."

"It won't seem awesome if that bear decides you smell good enough to eat," he replied.

"Seriously?"

"Damn serious."

As if on cue a huge black bear broke from the willow bushes, his nose up, sniffing the wind. Deeks froze as he watched the animal amble toward them. He felt nothing but cold fear, an otherworldly fear he'd never felt before. There was something primeval about the bear. This was not the kind of predator he was used to. He couldn't talk this creature down from violence. It acted on pure instinct. No malice. Just survival.

"Time to go," Deeks said, his voice muted by the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Sheila suddenly snorted loudly, and he could see the whites of her eyes as she tried to pull free and run. Deeks hurried to help Kemp up on her back, but she wasn't making it easy, nervously moving from one foot to the other. When he was up, Deeks handed him the rifle and swung quickly up behind him.

"Take the rifle," Purty said with a groan. "You shoot. I'll steer."

The comment struck Deeks as funny, until the bear roared out a challenge behind them.

…

I will be out of town this coming week, so I will not be posting the next chapter until the following week. Sorry to leave you hanging.

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