The shape was moving. He suspected that, whoever he was, he was tampering with the engine, maybe even planting a bomb. As he assessed the outline of the figure, he realized that this was one huge guy, and he would never match his strength. He’d need Gomez’s help for this.
He slipped quietly into the cabin. He found Gomez standing in the hallway with a look of concern on his face.
“I heard a noise,” said Gomez. “I think there’s someone outside.”
“Get your gun,” Dean ordered, “and follow me.”
The door of Cara’s bedroom opened, and she stepped out into the hallway.
“Is there a threat?” she asked. He noticed that she had assembled her rifle and was holding it to her side.
“Go back inside, Hanson,” Dean replied. “You’re not strong enough yet. Let me and Gomez deal with this.”
“But, sir...” she protested.
“No buts, Hanson,” he barked. “Go back inside, lock your door and wait for us to come back.”
She opened her mouth to speak and promptly closed it again. Turning her back, she went into her room and closed the door. He heard the lock click in place.
Gomez returned, holding his gun.
Dean’s hand reached for the door handle. “Stay close, follow my lead and shoot only if absolutely necessary.”
Gomez gave a quick nod of the head and raised his weapon. The door creaked open, and a gust of cold air blew through the cabin, creating a ghostly, high-pitched whine. Dean’s heart was pumping fast as he put one foot out onto the wooden decking outside.
Whatever the danger, he would not let it infiltrate his safe haven.
The men stood together on the veranda, looking each other in the eye.
Dean gave a small nod of the head to Gomez, who nodded silently in reply. He mouthed the words on three and counted Gomez in with his fingers.
Dean leaped from the deck onto the wet, soggy ground.
“STOP! Hands in the air.”
He aimed his gun at the dark shape hiding in the shadows of the car. It darted away, moving quicker than Dean thought possible. He looked over to Gomez, who was shaking his head in disbelief.
Both men gave chase, hurtling through the bracken behind the cabin, heading for the fields beyond. The black shadow scrambled over the fence and disappeared into the long grass. Dean followed the movement of the reeds and concentrated on the sound of rustling to follow its path.
“There,” he shouted, springing over the fence and snaking through the foliage. Blades of wet grass whipped at his body, soaking him through.
They both moved like thieves in the night, wordlessly weaving through the field, tracking the sound and movement of their target. This guy was not going to get away.
Suddenly, to Dean’s amazement, a huge, dark silhouette loomed from the grass sending a low, guttural growl in their direction. Gomez staggered backward and fell on his behind as the bear reared up.
“Stay where you are, Gomez,” Dean said in a voice that was as quiet as he could manage. “Whatever you do, don’t move.”
The bear dropped to all four legs and stood before them, its eyes glinting in the darkness. Low rumbling noises emanated from huge jaws. Dean raised his weapon.
“Go on now,” he said in a whisper. “We don’t want any trouble with you.”
The bear reared up again, sending another growl slicing through the air. Dean lifted his gun to the sky and fired a shot. It echoed through the night, reverberating for miles around. The bear dropped to his feet and fled. Dean saw its rough black fur shaking in the moonlight as it ran. In just a few seconds, it was gone. He turned to Gomez, offering him his hand. Gomez gripped it and Dean hauled him to his feet, laughing.
“Gee, that was a close call,” Gomez said, clicking the safety on his gun.
Both men began to walk back to the cabin. Dean’s face took on a serious look. “Let’s hope no one reports it. We don’t want anyone sniffing around, especially the police.”
“I guess we gotta make sure we’re more secure from now on,” said Gomez, pointing to the wide-open gate in the distance. “That bear just walked right in.”
They walked to the fence, and Dean closed the gate, making sure it firmly clicked into its latch.
“Do bears know how to open gates?” Gomez asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t think so,” said Dean, squatting down and inspecting the flat patch of grassland in front of the cabin. “One thing’s for sure, though. Bears don’t wear shoes.”
He examined the muddy ground, where boot prints were clearly visible, dotted all along the edge of the fence, like someone had been hiding under cover of the trees.
“Someone has been here,” he said, feeling his heart begin to thud in his chest. He thought of Cara Hanson inside the cabin, weakened from anaphylaxis, totally dependent on his ability to provide a secure environment where she could recover. “Gomez, stand guard while I go fetch a lock and chain. Shoot on sight if you face hostile action from anyone or anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
Cara sipped her coffee at the breakfast table. She was still seething from the indignation of being locked in her room like a naughty child while Dean and Gomez dealt with the threat outside. How could she protect them from harm inside a locked room? She couldn’t even bring herself to look Dean in the eye, lest she reignite the smoldering embers of their argument the previous day.
She felt physically stronger and more like her old self, although she desperately needed a change of clothes. She had worn the same stretch pants and T-shirt for the last two days. Dean had a full closet to cater for himself and Gomez but, of course, nothing fit her and she didn’t want to highlight the differences between them by drawing attention to her need for another set of clothes. She would probably just have to make do.
Dean entered the kitchen. He had shaved. His face was smooth and she saw that his chin had a cleft right in the center. She’d never noticed it before. Despite her resentment toward him, she couldn’t help but admit that his face was undeniably handsome with the kind of square jawline that made women look twice. She wondered if he had someone special waiting for him at home. A man this abrasive and uncompromising surely needed the presence of a woman to soothe his tortured mind.
“Good morning, Hanson,” he said, sitting at the end of the table.
She said nothing.
“Ah, I’m getting the silent treatment, am I?” He poured himself a coffee. “I guessed I might, especially after our disagreement yesterday.”
“I could have helped out there,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the table. “I’ve encountered more bears than you could imagine. I would’ve known exactly what to do.”
“I’m sure you would, Hanson,” he said. “But I couldn’t let you face any danger. I saw how much your hands shook yesterday. You were in no shape to handle a gun. It’s not just your safety on the line out there, it’s mine, as well, and I need you to be strong before you pick up your rifle again. I won’t apologize for making the right call.”
She let her head drop. He was right! Her hands had been shaking badly these last couple of days. She brought her hand up and held it in the air. It was reasonably steady, with just a hint of a tremble.
He leaned over to her. “Part of being a good soldier is