A/N Thank you all so much. So, shall we see what happens next? I think yes.

00

The Trap

He's confident he has everything he's going to need to get by until next spring, but a man can't be too careful. Besides, him and Jack are both meat eaters so the more meat the better.

Daryl's up early and when he stirs, the dog stirs. He looks at Jack and asks, "Wanna try for another deer? Shit, maybe we'll get us some rabbits or a turkey. Whaddya think?" The dog's ears perk and his tail wags, and Daryl gives him a good back rubbing, "Atta boy Jack, let's do it."

A man will take a Labrador Retriever out bird hunting, or a hound dog coon hunting, but no man takes a big dog like Jack deer hunting. But then, Daryl Dixon isn't just any man, and Jack isn't just any dog.

He cooks them a breakfast of deer steak over an outdoor fire, and they sit and eat together. Jack washes his breakfast down with a fresh bowl of water, Daryl has a mug of stout camp coffee, and they're set.

The man isn't sure how long they'll be out, so he packs them up some jerky, a dog biscuit for Jack, and a gallon jug of water.

He considers just heading out on foot, but shit, if he gets lucky he damn sure doesn't want to have to pack a deer on his back, and what? Carry the turkey and his crossbow. Nah.

Maybe he'll take the pickup, he hasn't had it out in weeks, but nah. Not today. He smiles at Jack and asks, "Whaddya say we take the old three-wheeler?" He roughs the dog's head adding, "That'd be kinda fun, huh boy?"

Daryl has had the three-wheel ATV for years, and shit, it was a damn antique when he bought it. The government banned them back in 1988, too many kids getting hurt. So, yeah, the thing is ancient. None of that matters up here on the mountain. He's a good mechanic and he keeps the thing running like brand new. Besides, he isn't going to be doing any jumps or trick riding on the thing, it's a work vehicle and it gets the job done.

Recently he made himself a small trailer to pull behind it. It isn't fancy, just something he cobbled together, and it sure as hell wouldn't do for anywhere but on the mountain, but the mountain is the only place he plans to be. He'd be content to never set foot off this mountain again.

The trailer is just big enough to load a deer, or any other game he might harvest, and get it back to the cabin. He's got it lined with an old blue tarp, and for now, he loads his crossbow in it. Besides the bow, he's got a pistol on his hip and a knife in a sheath on his thigh. The knife is for field dressing and whatever else he needs it to do, and the pistol is just in case he has to react quickly to protect himself or Jack.

Daryl's never encountered trouble from anyone up on the mountain, shit, he's never seen any people as far up as he is, but that doesn't mean someone won't show up sometime. There are black bears around too, and every once in a while, one of them can get a little cranky. A shot in the air usually has them running off.

He believes in being prepared for any troublesome encounter with man or beast.

Jack is way too big to ride in front of him on the ATV, but neither of them care. That's where the dog likes to ride and Daryl doesn't mind. Anyway, they're just kind of meandering, enjoying the country around them as they ride a few miles down the mountain to one of Daryl's favorite hunting spots.

Deer are naturally skittish and the sound of the vehicle's engine would scare them off, so he parks the ATV a mile or so away from where they'll be hunting. They've only walked a half mile or so when they both stop dead in their tracks. They hear the telltale sounds, the cackle, cluck, purr, and yelp of wild turkeys. Daryl puts a finger to his lips, like Jack doesn't know to stay still and be quiet.

The man silently pulls a bolt from the quiver, loads the bow and quietly walks in the direction of the sounds. He spots the flock in a clearing, but they haven't sensed him yet. He chooses the biggest hen, her meat will be more tender than the bigger Tom's. The bolt sails through the air, the man calls, "Jack!" and the dog is at his side. He smiles, "Ya wanna go get it for me?" The dog most definitely does. Daryl pulls a small length of rope from his jacket pocket, and when Jack brings him the bird he ties the hens feet together to make it easy to carry, like a rope handle. Daryl slings the crossbow over his shoulder and the hunters are on their way again.

Jack's a good dog, the best, and he knows how to keep quiet when they're hunting. He understands they're trying to sneak up on something and he's smart enough to avoid things like dry leaves that crunch and twigs that snap. He's also an excellent hunting partner, the dog can sense a deer a mile off.

They've gone just about a mile from the ATV, maybe a little further, when Jack bumps his nose into Daryl's hand. The man looks at the dog and the dog looks back at him, then turns his head and his nose points to his right, it's his way of communicating what he knows. Daryl nods, the dog lays down to patiently wait, and the man leaves the turkey with him. Jack won't bother it.

Daryl pulls a bolt from the quiver and in seconds the bow is loaded and cocked. He's ready. He walks to the right, just as the dog instructed, and after going about three hundred yards he spots a good sized buck munching on wild grasses.

The bolt flies, the deer falls, and Daryl looks over his shoulder and calls out, "We got him Jack." The dog latches his teeth onto the rope and hurries with the bird over to watch Daryl field dress the buck. The man is damn near done when the dog begins acting nervous and agitated. Then Jack does something he's never done before, he runs off.

Daryl yells, "Get back here!" The dog stops, turns to look at the man, but continues on.

"Fuck me," the man mutters to himself, "what the fuck Jack." But he's sure there must be something out there that's gotten the dog's attention. He pulls a red shop rag from his hip pocket, uses it to wipe the blood off his hands and then off the knife, loads and cocks the crossbow, and hurries after the dog.

He doesn't have to go far before something comes into view, holy shit, there's a body on the ground. It looks like a woman. What the fuck would a woman be doing alone this far up the mountain? Jack is hovering over the body and Daryl calls out, "Jack, dammit Jack, get away from that," but Jack begins licking the woman's face.

Daryl goes to him, drops on one knee next to the dog and puts his hand on the woman's shoulder, giving it a gentle shake when he asks, "You alive?"

She doesn't really have to answer, he knows she's still breathing, she's alive, but shit, she sure is a mess.

He starts with the obvious, get her leg out of the fucking trap. Shit, who the fuck uses a leg-hold trap? Cruel bastard, and this trap looks older than the ATV. Shit, the thing is so rusted over he's amazed it actually sprung and trapped her here.

He uses his knife to scrape away as much of the rust and dirt as he can from the hinges, then begins attempting to open the damn thing. He gets it on the third try, but man, that wasn't easy.

He's just tossing the trap aside when the woman comes to. She leans her head up and in a weak but very demanding voice, she asks, "What're you doing?" Like she's mad at him.

That pisses him off and he answers, "Gettin' your fuckin' leg outta this damn thing. What's the matter, ya want me ta put it back?"

Her head falls back to the ground and now she sounds like she's crying, but she's way too dehydrated to have any actual tears, "Why would you put that there. Why?"

"I didn't fuckin' put it there. I never would use one a them damn things. Ya don't even know me, why ya accusin' me? Fuck lady, I just helped ya out. "

The woman doesn't hear what he said because she's out again. Really out this time.

He lifts her foot to try and have a look, but she's wearing hiking boots and it's hard to know what's going on. It's a damn good thing she's wearing them, the boot gave her some protection against the damn trap. The thick leather of the shaft does have teeth marks from the trap imprinted in it, but maybe it didn't break through to her skin. That would be best, fuck, all that rust.

He almost removes her boot but stops himself as soon as he loosens the laces. He doesn't have anything with him to care for whatever he finds. It's probably best for him to just take her home where he can doctor her.

Take her home? Fuck him. Another human being does not fit into his life plan, but what the fuck can he do? Just leave her laying out here as bear bait? Dammit, he doesn't seem to have a choice.

Daryl stands, looks at the dog and sternly scolds him, "Ya better not disobey me again Jack, ya understand?" The dog looks suitably contrite as he lays his head down, resting his chin on his paws and looking up at the man with pitiful brown eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever Jack. Now listen, ya stay here with her. Don't leave. Got it?"

The dog looks at him like he knows exactly what was said, and he does know enough to know he's supposed to stay where he is.

Daryl rushes off but gets no more than 20 yards when he looks back and calls, "That's a good boy Jack, you stay. I'll be back soon."

It's not close by and he's in a hurry, so he runs full out to get to the three-wheeler, takes a half a minute to catch his breath, and lays the crossbow in the trailer bed.

He's conflicted about what to do next, but fuck, it will only take an extra seven to eight minutes, and he can't waste a whole deer and a turkey. Besides, it isn't going to make a difference for her if it takes an extra eight minutes.

He gets to where the deer lay, relieved that he'd finished dressing it out when Jack lost his mind and ran off. It's chilly out too, the meat will be fine. He's also pleasantly surprised no other animals, birds or bugs seem to have bothered it. The hen either, shit, everything's good.

There is a problem though. If he's going to load the woman in the trailer, and how else would he get her to his place? That means he's going to have to have the deer on the seat right behind him, laying across it.

Shit, that's a full house. Jack in front of him, the deer behind him, a blond, a turkey and a crossbow riding in the makeshift trailer. They're going to look like the fuckin' Beverly Hillbillies. Who the fuck cares? It'll work and it's not like anyone will see them, or like Daryl Dixon would care if anyone did.

He hits the throttle to get back to where the woman and Jack are, hops off the ATV and tells the dog, "Just sit tight a minute boy, I gotta put this woman in the trailer." He bends down, muttering as he lifts her in his arms, "You're heavier than ya look," but he's as careful as he knows how to be when he lays her in the trailer. Man, she really is a mess.

Her blond hair is matted and full of leaves and dirt, her lips are dry and blistered from the sun and dehydration. Her face is so burned, the blisters will start coming up on it soon. Her jeans are torn, and all of her clothing is filthy.

Daryl can't help feeling bad for her, shit, what a fucking ordeal she's been through, but shit, he's mad at her too. Maybe he's mean, maybe he's just an asshole, but he can't help himself, he already doesn't like her. She had no business showing up in his life, but that doesn't mean he wants her to die, fuck though, now he has to fix whatever is wrong with her so she can go back to wherever she came from.

Hopefully it won't take long for her to get well enough to go home so him and Jack can get back to living their lives. All he has to do is get her well enough so he can get her ass home and get the hell back up the mountain.

He pulls up in front of his outdoor cooking area and instructs Jack, "All right boy, go on, " and the dog jumps off the three wheeler first, Daryl's right behind him. He carries the deer into his kitchen shed and hangs it. He sighs, "finally," the buck is at least partly taken care of, he'll finish dealing with it later. He hangs the turkey by it's feet next to the buck. The bird will be fine. It's already getting damn cold out.

There's a stack of blankets on the shelf, blankets he used to use for camping and whatnot back in the day. He grabs two decent ones and carries them to the small cabin.

There are no options on where to put her, it'll have to be his bed. He lays one blanket down on it and tucks it in all around. Jack's just standing there watching him and he tells the dog, "Shit man, don't look at me that way. She's filthy and ya know doin' wash out here is a big fat pain in my ass. Fuck, I just washed all this shit two days ago."

He smiles then and tells the dog, "Ya wanna know how bad this woman is fuckin' with our lives Jack? I'll be sleepin' on the floor with you tonight."

He goes out to the trailer to fetch her, mumbling to himself, "See? She's still breathin' and we got us a nice deer and a bird. Good eatin'." A soft "mmm" sound comes from the woman and Daryl nods, "Glad you agree," then picks her up and carries her into the small cabin, with Jack following close behind.

Things turn serious after that. He strips out of his flannel and down to his t-shirt, puts a couple logs in the wood stove, looks at the dog and says, "There ya go boy, lay down n have a rest. Ya earned it," and Jack curls up on the rug in front of the stove.

Daryl goes to the small sink, uses the hand pump to get water going, and washes up. He grabs a first-aid kit from under the sink, realizes he's probably going to need some soap and water too and fills a large bowl. He sets a small table near the end of the bed and puts everything there he thinks he'll need, then sits himself on a stool next to it. "Shit," he stands again, mumbling to himself, "I better try n get some kind of liquid in her." He walks back toward the sink, opens a cabinet above it and grabs a bottle of red Gatorade. He looks over at her laying there and says, "I tell ya what lady, this shit damn near cures a hangover, it oughta do good for dehydration."

Getting her to drink it is what's going to be tough. He sits on the edge of the bed next to her, sets the bottle on the floor in front of him, puts an arm under her and lifts her so it's almost like she's sitting, "Lady, hey, c'mon lady, ya need ta drink sumthin. This shit's good and I ain't kiddin', c'mon, I'll help."

He holds her with one arm, the bottle in his other hand as he touches it to her lips, "C'mon now, try'n take a drink." He barely gets the words out when she's desperately trying to suck in the liquid, "Hey, hey, slow down. You're gonna give yourself a bellyache."

Shit, her eyes aren't even open. She doesn't drink much more though and she's out again. He'll wake her when he's done doctoring her ankle and she can have more.

Her leg and her foot are both swollen, the damn boot doesn't want to give way, and when he's a little more forceful about pulling it off the woman yelps and cries "Ouch!" Her voice is low and scratchy, barely there, when she pleads, "No, no, don't, please don't! Please." Daryl's pretty sure there would be tears if she wasn't dehydrated, reminding him, he's going to have to try and get her drinking on the regular.

It'd be so cool if he had one of those IVs like they used on him that time when he was twelve and his Dad worked him over so bad that he had to go to the hospital. Yeah, a bag of that juice they use would fix her right up.

So, fuck, what is he going to do about this boot? The only thing he can try besides brute force, is to cut through the leather shaft so the boot will come off a little easier. He hates to ruin a good boot but he's got to get to her ankle.

He uses a utility knife to cut through the leather, being as careful as he can not to cut her flesh. His other thought is, if he can make it just a straight, simple cut, he might be able to fix the boot shaft well enough for her to wear the damn things home.

Once the boot is off he sees what he's dealing with. Fuck, the skin is broken, that's not good, but what's worse is, the ankle also appears to have at least one broken bone. He knows a little something about ankle bones thanks to his brother. Shit how would he ever be able to forget? Back when Merle was in his twenties he broke his ankle in a motorcycle wreck. He went on and on for days about how there are three bones in the ankle and he managed to break all three of them. Bragging as if broken bones were something to be proud of. That's just Merle though. Dumbass.

Maybe, if they're lucky it's just a sprain. It'll be hard to know for sure until she can stay awake and alert long enough for him to see if she's able to move it around. For now, he cleans it up good with soap and water, then uses plenty of peroxide on it, followed by antibiotic ointment. It's all he's got. He wraps it tight, and she yelps now and then, but she never really wakes up, and that's just fine with him.

He takes off her other boot and sock, goes to the small dresser and gets a pair if his wool socks. He slips them on her feet mumbling, "Just remember, these socks belong to me." Shit they practically go up to her knees. He gets the small pillow off his chair and sets it at the end of the bed, then rests her hurt ankle on it. Maybe that might help the swelling.

He covers her with the second blanket, then walks to the small kitchen, pops the lid off the lard can and dips his index finger in it. He goes back to her and carefully rubs the lard on her lips. Although she's out like a light, he tells her, "This'll make em feel better."

Finally he tells Jack, "I'ma go see about that deer now. Shit, we had a tough day today and I'm thinking we deserve some nice grilled backstraps for dinner, whaddya say?"

Daryl could swear that damn dog smiled, "Yeah well, you're on babysittin' duty. You keep an eye on her for now."

He's always been meticulous about how he cares for meat. The deer should have been cooled down and hanging a long time ago, but then, he never had a hunting trip like the one he had today. He goes out and checks the deer and thank God, everything appears to be fine. He cuts out the backstraps, washes the animal down with cool water, then covers it in cheesecloth to keep any bugs off.

He glances at the turkey and says, "Don't worry, I got big plans for you too. We'll take care a that first thing in the morning."

He heads back to the cabin with the meat, sets it on a tin camp plate, and washes his hands again. He shakes his head, what's with all this hand washing today.

He takes the plate and tells Jack, "I'm goin' out n cook this up, you wait here. It's already dark out n we got her, so we'll eat inside tonight."

Daryl and the dog are both starving, and Daryl doesn't waste time. He sets Jack's meat in his bowl by the stove, grabs a can of beans for himself and eats them cold and straight from the can, in between bites of the tender filet.

Once he's done, and it doesn't take long, he cleans up his dishes, goes to the outdoor kitchen and comes back with a steaming bowl of grits. She ought to be able to get them down easy enough. More important, they should stay down.

He sits on the bed again, with both the grits and the Gatorade at his feet. He lifts her to a sitting position like he did before and encourages, "C'mon lady, you gotta try n eat n drink sumthin'."

She comes to and her eyes get wide, damn, they're big, and they're bright blue. Pretty. The pretty goes away in a hurry when she opens her mouth and accuses him, "What are you trying to do? Why am I in bed? What do you think you're doing?"

Now he's pissed again, "Shit lady, whatever the fuck you think I'm doin' it sure as hell ain't that, so don't flatter yourself. All I's doin' was try'n ta save your life so I can get ya the fuck outta my house."

His harshness startles her into remembering, the trap, "Oh…oh my gawd…I'm sorry."

He doesn't accept or reject the apology, he just sticks a spoonful of food up to her lips and demands, "Eat this. It's grits."

She's so embarrassed, but when she tries to take the spoon to feed herself she's too weak. The Mountain Man has to feed her. While he does, she tries to get a look around, curious to see whatever this place is.

There's not much to see. His place is tiny, then she spots him, it's the dog! He's laying so quietly in front of the wood stove with his eyes trained on her. She tries speaking to the animal, her voice barely a whisper, "I remember you." Then her eyes turn to the man and she says, "I'm sorry. Thank you. I'm Beth."

He looks uncomfortable, "Thank the dog, it was him that found ya."

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A/N He's not exactly Mister Congeniality. Please leave a comment. There's a chapter photo on my tumblr blogs gneebee and bethylmethbrick, please have a look. I'll be back next Thursday with a new chapter of The Man On The Mountain, and I hope you'll be here too. Until then remember, I love ya large! xo gneebee