Prey

“It looks good,” he said in approval. “I like the color.” As a man he probably didn’t give a rip about the color, but as a real estate agent he knew what would sell and what wouldn’t.

Angie laughed. “Any color would be better than what was here before.” She wasn’t a decorating whiz, by any means, but the old discolored, peeling wallpaper had been an eyesore even before she’d moved away. By the time she’d moved back, the wallpaper had gone from merely unattractive to a real disaster. Removing it and painting the walls a deep taupe had to be an improvement.

“There is that.” He removed his hat and coat, hanging them on the pegs by the door. “Been a while since I’ve been here; any other improvements you’ve made?”

“Some lighting fixtures, paint, general repair. Nothing major needed to be taken care of. Let me show you around.”

The place wasn’t anything fancy, but it was solidly built. Everything eventually needed new roofing and maintenance, but her dad had stayed on top of things—except for cosmetic stuff like the wallpaper—so she hadn’t been hit with any big expenses. So far, knock on wood, the new cabinet pulls had been her single biggest outlay as far as the buildings went.

She had de-cluttered the place and repainted, and turned the master bedroom into a guest room. Somehow, when she’d moved back, taking over her dad’s bedroom hadn’t been in the cards. Her old room had been way more inviting, and being there felt natural. Sometimes she had married couples as clients, and if she liked them enough and was comfortable with them staying in the house with her, she’d offered the master bedroom instead of putting them in one of the tiny cabins, which realistically were better suited for one person, not two.

Harlan was complimentary on what she’d accomplished, but he didn’t take any photos the way she’d expected. For that matter, he hadn’t brought a camera at all, unless it was one of those tiny digitals that could hide in his pocket.

“Did you leave your camera in the truck?”

“I forgot it,” he said, a guilty look crossing his face.

Angie was dismayed by the delay; she was leaving early in the morning and the planned hunt could go as long as a week, which meant it would be at least that long before Harlan could list the property. She had so little leeway that she felt a little panicked over the forgotten camera, but she still managed to smile at him and say, “That gives you an excuse to come out again.”

“There is that.” He followed her back to the kitchen, and made himself at home at the table while she poured coffee for both of them. She stirred two teaspoons of sugar into his, one into hers, and carefully delivered his cup into his hands before she took her own seat.

He nodded at all the supplies spread out across the kitchen table, barely leaving enough space for them to set their cups. “Looks like a long hunt.”

“A week, though you know how it goes: If they bag their prey the first day, the hunt’s essentially over.”

“Trophy hunter?”

“Yeah. I’ve made the usual arrangements for the meat.” That meant that the meat would go to a homeless shelter, or to a family that needed a helping hand with food. The law was that the meat couldn’t be wasted.

“Who are your clients?”

“One’s a repeat; his name’s Chad Krugman. Nice enough guy, but not much of a hunter. The other one, Davis, is his client. I guess this is the roughing-it equivalent of a golf game.”

Harlan gave her a somber look. “Be careful.”

“Always.” She knew exactly what he was talking about, and didn’t pretend otherwise. In a perfect world a female guide wouldn’t have to take precautions when taking out a party of male hunters, but the world wasn’t perfect and she wasn’t stupid. Not only was she always armed when she was out on a guide trip, she made certain people knew where she was, who she was with, and when she was coming back—and that her clients knew she’d left their names with someone else, which was probably the best safeguard she had.

Nevertheless, she was on birth control. She kept things on a no-nonsense basis, never flirted, and slept lightly with her rifle at hand. There were some things she couldn’t control, and if two men decided to gang up on her she might or might not to be able to handle the situation, but she was fairly certain she’d be able to handle someone acting alone. She made things as safe for herself as possible, and had to be content with that.

One thing she didn’t have that she wished she did: Her dad had gotten a satellite phone that he’d taken on guide trips, for emergencies, and she’d kept it for the first couple of years, but last year she’d had to cut expenses, and the satellite phone was one of the first things to go. She’d felt safer, having the phone. Thank goodness she hadn’t had any real emergencies in all the years she’d been guiding. Come to think of it, neither had her dad, but he’d liked having the phone.

He’d modernized in other ways as well, such as buying the four-wheelers, but for the most part he’d liked the whole bit of going out on horseback and giving his clients a real sense of adventure. She should have sold the horses the first year and kept the four-wheelers, but sentiment had gotten in the way of good sense, and she’d kept the money-eaters not only because her dad had liked them, but because one of the horses was a particular favorite of hers. Then last year she’d lost Jupiter to colic anyway, and another horse had broken its leg and had to be put down, which meant she’d had to buy two new horses, neither of which she liked nearly as much as the horses they’d replaced.