The Replacement Page 5

  “Unless you count feeling stiff, sore and having snow down my neck.” Lindsey giggled, pushing the dog off her. “I don’t need dog hair in my mouth, either.” Ginger bounded at her chest again with puppy playfulness, shoving Lindsey flat on her back in the snow. One ski binding popped open, and a pole complete with leather glove fell across the dog’s back.

  Lindsey broke into full-fledged laughter. “Some rescue ranger I am. Get off me, you silly dog. Ginger—move!”

  The dog came closer, causing a clump of snow to land squarely on Lindsey’s face. Lindsey groped blindly about, then felt herself being lifted up and away from the snow. She felt the ground underfoot again. One arm remained around her waist, while strong masculine fingers gently brushed at the snow on her face. Lindsey opened her eyes to see Eric’s dear face only inches from hers. Both the intensity in his gaze and the lines around his eyes—lines that weren’t there four years ago—made the grin fade from her lips.

  “I’ve missed your smile,” he said hoarsely.

  “Not enough to postpone our wedding for forty-eight hours so I could bury a friend.” The anger in her voice surprised him into releasing her. The words she hadn’t been able to say because of shock rushed to her lips.

  “I’ll never forget that, Eric. I hate what you did to me…to us.”

  “Judging by that ring on your finger, I guess you got over it.”

  “One has nothing to do with the other! I just…” Her voice trailed off. At his continued silence, she took in a deep breath. “Don’t know where that came from,” she said shakily, backing away from his grasp to reach for her fallen gear. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t intend to start my first day by dragging out the past.”

  “Skip the sir routine. I’m still Eric, same as always.”

  Lindsey nodded and stepped back into her ski binding. “Not exactly the same.”

  “It’s been four years,” he said simply.

  “That’s not what I mean. You seem—different.”

  To her surprise, Eric didn’t press for details. “What do you want me to say, Lindsey? Right now, all I care about is that you do a professional job. There’s no reason to think you wouldn’t. You always have. Anything beyond that…” He shrugged. “Like you said, it’s only your first day. We have time to talk later.”

  The stillness of the winter snow, a snow high above the timberline, where neither bird nor insect made a sound, wrapped around them.

  “A few months, anyway.” Lindsey finished retrieving and donning her gloves and poles, then patted her thigh with her hand to call Ginger. She waited for Eric to take off at a smooth glide and followed, her pulse throbbing against her temples with emotion.

  Eric didn’t speak again for some time, and when he did, he spoke only of business matters in a brisk voice that neither repelled nor welcomed. For her part, she spent the next few hours adjusting to the routine of Yosemite. Old tasks came back easily—checking the snowpack, checking the few trails for signs of human visitors that might still remain visible, and watching the sky for indications of changing weather. When they’d traveled two-thirds of the large circle that would return them to the cabin, Eric called the other team by radio.

  “We aren’t stopping for lunch?” she asked curiously. On days with clear weather, Eric preferred to take his meal on the trail. The rangers had more than enough cabin time—and cabin fever—when long storms rolled in. She’d packed enough for two, with a nut-and-carbo trail mix and a second bag of dried fruit, expecting Eric to go with his usual dried beef jerky and coffee, but not positive. As he’d said earlier, much had changed in four years.

  “Not on your first day,” he said. “I’m assuming you’re still on the Diamox. You need a few weeks to adjust to the altitude and cold. We’ll go back to the cabin for lunch and you can take it easy for the rest of the day.

  Let’s take a breather, though. I could go for some coffee. You?”

  “I’ll pass. But I think I’ll step off the trail,” Lindsey said, falling back into the expression she used when needing privacy to relieve herself.

  “Make it quick,” Eric warned. “I don’t want you chilled from exposure.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m no rookie,” Lindsey replied. She removed the snowshoes attached to her pack, substituted them for her skis, and left pack and gear with Eric. “Be right back. Come on, Ginger,” she commanded.

  They made their way through the snow—the upper level of loose shallow snow with layers of deep, hard-packed crust beneath. Once she reached some pine trees and scrub that made good cover, Lindsey enviously watched Ginger squat as she herself unzipped thermal-lined ski pants to get to her long underwear.

  “Yeah, easy for you, girl,” she muttered. Lindsey took care of her immediate need, finished with the biodegradable camping tissue and quickly redressed, her bottom still pimpled with goose bumps. “No more morning coffee for me,” she said aloud, thinking of the hot chocolate and healthier orange juice she’d passed up. She never could hold caffeine.

  She allowed herself a “Brrrr” before quickly treading forward on her snowshoes, using the brisk pace to warm herself. “Come on, Ginger, let’s get back to the trail.”

  Ginger started, then suddenly stopped. Head held high, nose even higher, the golden retriever sniffed the air. Her tail extended stiffly, a sign of concentration.

  “Whatcha got, girl?” Lindsey whispered. “A rabbit?”

  Ginger’s ears perked higher and her nostrils flared even wider. She whined, her tail rapidly swishing—signaling a “find,” a human find.

  “There can’t be a person around here,” Lindsey gasped. Maybe she’d read the dog’s body language wrong. No matter how well-trained dogs were, when they switched handlers, there were always communication problems, at least initially. Not only that, every dog signaled a find differently. Best to be cautious. She thrust out a hand for the dog’s collar, but Ginger evaded Lindsey’s grasp and half ran, half bounded through the shadowed snow blanketing the base of the denser pines.

  “Ginger, come!” Lindsey ordered, but Ginger remained determinedly on course.

  Automatically Lindsey reached for her radio to call for backup, but it remained with the rest of her gear—back on the trail with Eric. She yanked off her glove and whistled through her fingers, the way her father had taught her at the family’s kennels—long and loud—then hurried after the dog as fast as she could on snowshoes.

  She heard Eric’s responding two blasts on his whistle, but didn’t slow her pace. Ginger might not have been her partner for long, but she trusted her partner. She always trusted her dogs. Unlike people, they’d never lied to her.

  “I’m coming, Ginger! Hold up!” she ordered, but Ginger had already stopped of her own accord and was digging frantically at a large mound of snow. Up close, it looked odd; the snow was cut into crisp, hard-packed blocks and arranged into an igloo-like form. Large boughs of pine across the top both protected the blocks from wind and camouflaged its appearance.

  “What is it?” Lindsey asked. She pulled the dog away, searching for the entrance she knew had to be there. “What did you find?”

  In the distance she could hear Eric shouting her name. She couldn’t answer; shocked surprise at her discovery had momentarily left her speechless. Lindsey reached into the hollow and pulled out a sleeping bag….

  With a living, breathing little girl.

  Rangers’ winter cabin

  Afternoon, same day

  “GOT IT. OVER AND OUT.” Eric switched off the radio at the desk and came out of the ranger office.

  “Get a positive identity on the girl, Boss?” Keith asked as he carefully waxed his skis in front of the fire. “She’s gotta be the one we’re looking for.”

  “Yeah, she is. The description matched. Pamela Wilson. Daughter of Joyce and David Wilson. He was jailed for assault and battery, then the wife filed for divorce with full custody. The court granted both, and when the paperwork was served, the ex became enraged and broke out soon after.”

>   “If I’d escaped from jail, I’d certainly find better living quarters than the snow.” Keith shook his head. “What kind of father leaves a kid alone in the dead of winter?”

  “One who’s armed and wanted by the police for kidnapping. We’re damn lucky he wasn’t around at the time.” Eric looked toward the women’s closed bedroom door where Lindsey and Naomi had taken the child to be examined, tended and warmed. The thought of Lindsey walking into the kidnapper’s base chilled his blood. She could just as easily have walked into an ambush with the father! He’d have to have a talk with her—with all of them—about taking extra precautions.

  “Is he missing?” Keith asked. “Or dead?”

  “Neither,” Eric said. “I saw the child’s shelter. It was first rate—an Inuit probably couldn’t have done any better. Whoever he is, the fool knows his way around the outdoors. He did a good job of keeping his daughter hidden.”

  “Speaking of good jobs, it didn’t take our replacement long to make the find, did it?” Keith switched skis. “And with a dog she’s only had one day. Talk about luck—and skill. I’m impressed.”

  “That’s Lindsey for you.”

  The bedroom door opened and Lindsey stepped out, much to Ginger’s delight. The dog had been shut out of the bedroom and away from the young patient.

  “Speak of the devil,” Keith said, adding, “How is she?” at the same time that Eric asked, “How’s the kid?”

  “Naomi says that on the whole, she’ll be okay. A small frostbite patch on her nose. Her toes are worse. Naomi couldn’t say if she’d lose any. She’s a little dehydrated, but not underweight. Ginger, calm down.” Lindsey searched through the pantry. “Naomi says there’s some IV bags with Ringer’s lactate solution in here somewhere?”

  “On the left,” Eric said.

  “Your sister’s more worried about her mental condition. The child’s not speaking right now. Do we have confirmation on the name yet?”

  Eric nodded. “Pamela Wilson. Goes by Pam. She’s six years old, and her mother has full custody. From what I’ve been told, the father decided to take the daughter and run, after the wife filed for divorce—seems the bastard likes beating his family,” Eric said with disgust.

  “Yosemite is no place to escape—or to hide a child!” Ginger stopped prancing at the harshness in Lindsey’s voice. The dog went back to the hearth to quietly observe the proceedings.

  “No, it’s not.” Eric passed Lindsey an IV bag.

  “Why did he come to the park in the first place? Why are the police so sure he’s in Yosemite?”

  “They said he grew up in this county. Used to bring his wife and daughter on camping trips all the time. Considering how well he knows the area, we’re lucky you found Pam.”

  “Ginger did. I got dragged along for the ride. Naomi wants a butterfly needle. Says they’re best for little veins.”

  Eric passed that sterile packet to her. “The father’s still out there. He’s not going to be happy that we took his daughter.”

  “Obviously the mother’s frantic to see her again. If only we could chopper Pam out,” Lindsey said. “And chopper some police in.”

  “We’ll just have to pack her out,” Keith said.

  “I don’t think the weather will hold.”

  Lindsey and Keith both gazed toward the barometer on the outer porch. “It’s falling?” she asked Eric.

  “No, but it will. We’ll soon have more snow than any of us can handle, let alone a small child.”

  “Are you sure?” Keith asked.

  “He’s never wrong about the weather.” Lindsey collected the supplies.

  “I can hope. Damn,” Keith muttered.

  “If it grounds us, it’ll ground her father,” Eric said. “For now, that’s a plus.”

  Lindsey echoed Keith’s reply. “We can hope,” she said as she headed back to the women’s bedroom with Naomi’s supplies.

  AN HOUR LATER, both women emerged; Lindsey first, Naomi following, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  “Poor thing’s out like a light. She has a slight fever, too, but that’s probably from the frostbite. I’m hoping after she’s rested and hydrated she’ll take some broth.” Naomi headed for the sink to wash her hands. “And she’s on a bedpan until I say otherwise. I don’t want this child outside or on her feet for any reason.”

  “Is she well enough to be evacuated?” Eric asked.

  “Assuming her father lets us out of here…I think so,” Naomi grabbed a towel to dry her hands. “I’m going to go back and sit with her for a while.”

  “I’ll reassign the chores,” Eric said. “With Lindsey here, it won’t be a problem.”

  “I need to let Ginger out again,” Lindsey said. She wouldn’t bother with the leash this time. Ginger had followed her commands out on the trail. Lindsey didn’t feel that Ginger had truly bonded with her, yet, but the dog seemed to have accepted her authority.

  Eric reached for his coat. “I’ll come with you.”

  Outside in the white stillness of Yosemite snow, Yosemite granite, they watched Ginger sniff and trot and sniff some more.

  “Fussy, isn’t she?” Eric said.

  Lindsey turned her face to him. “She doesn’t strike me as fussy. I think she just has a great nose. Lucky for us.”

  “We’re going to need more than luck,” Eric said. “I’m sure the father’s still alive and kicking, and that means he’s a threat. With his skills…”

  Lindsey gave him her full attention. “Yes?”

  “He’s trouble. Think about it. That shelter was expertly built, and would’ve served any experienced outdoors person well. You just happened to come across the child when he was out—probably gathering fuel.”

  Lindsey blinked. “I didn’t notice any signs of a second person.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. Because you always watch the dog—and gauge your reactions by the dog’s reactions.”

  She flushed, her cheeks turning red in the evening cold. “That’s what a good dog handler is supposed to do.”

  “Lindsey, you could use your own senses as well! It would make you a much better—”

  “Person?”

  “Ranger. That child didn’t start the campfire by herself. I learned a lot studying the campsite and what was left of the fire. Her father’s skilled in surviving the wilderness, and he knows we have his daughter. It’ll be a lot easier for him to find us than the other way around, and he’s a desperate man. An armed man. I’d bet my paycheck he’ll be back for her—and us.”

  The retriever scratched with her back legs, throwing fresh snow over the soiled snow just behind her. Then she trotted over to Lindsey, nuzzled her mitten-clad hand, and waited for the command to head back toward the cabin in the failing light.

  “We can’t cover our tracks,” Eric said. “And we can’t get Pam out of here unless we’re on foot—not an option right now—even if Pam’s condition allowed it. Not with the weather about to sour.”

  The two stood in silence for a moment. Ginger, tired of waiting, took the lead and ambled slowly toward the cabin.

  “Independent, isn’t she?” Lindsey said.

  “It could’ve gotten her killed. And you, if Wilson had been at the camp with his daughter. He’s packing a gun, possibly a rifle, and he isn’t above hitting women or children. He wouldn’t have thrown out the welcome mat for you. Lindsey, why didn’t you radio me?”

  “I—well, I didn’t recognize that Ginger was alerting me to a human, and everything happened so fast…. Plus I left my radio with the pack.”

  “You should’ve had it on you.”

  “I know. But I did whistle. It’s just that I got out of the habit of relying on you as my partner. I’ve been working with other people for the past four years.”

  Her words hung in the cold air, an almost tangible barrier.

  “They’re not here. I am,” he said tersely. “Finding Pam was a lucky break. But we still have to get her out. That won’t be easy. Wilson’s got the whole park
to hide in. We’re easy to find—and sitting targets for him if we make any mistakes. Don’t let your independent streak turn you into our weakest link, Lindsey. We can’t afford mistakes.”

  Lindsey nodded. For the first time since her arrival, Eric’s attitude held more than just professional caution. He was worried about her on a more personal level, too, or so it seemed. His next words confirmed it. “Good. I’ve got to go talk to the others.” As he passed her, she felt his hand drop lightly on her shoulder. “Welcome back, Lindsey.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rangers’ winter cabin

  Day 3, sunrise

  JUST AS ERIC HAD PREDICTED,, the rangers awoke to the howl of the wind, signaling the arrival of a fast-moving cold front. Hard, driving snow obscured vision and drowned out any other sounds as it whistled around the peaks near Half Dome and blew through the open spaces of Tuolumne Meadows. Keith and Eric alternated leaving the cabin on a rope guide to refill the generator; if it stopped, the fuel would freeze inside the engine, and the whole machine would have to be thawed to become useful again.

  Lindsey took a few trips on the rope to walk the dog and do bedpan duty for Pam. She mentally contrasted her modern plumbing and deeply tiled whirlpool tub back home with the cold austerity of the outhouse. With a start, she realized she hadn’t thought about San Diego once during the past few days, nor had she thought about Wade, except in relation to his ring. It still continued to hold her puffy finger hostage, and catch on glove or mitten every time she pulled one on.

  For now, the white wilderness of the High Sierras, and the people inside the cabin were her whole frame of reference. One of them was a former lover, one a former enemy, and the other, a stranger. She stomped the snow from her boots before taking off her mittens and heavy parka inside the cabin’s glass-enclosed porch area. Ginger’s long coat remained full of snow, but it didn’t seem to be bothering the dog. She waited for Lindsey to open the door to the interior cabin.

  “Not until you shake,” Lindsey said. “Shake, girl!”

  Ginger obligingly lifted one front paw.

  “No, not your paw,” Lindsey said. “Paw means give me your foot. Shake means clean your coat.” She was surprised at Eva, teaching the dog pet commands, instead of working commands.