Prey

“I’ll leave you to unpack,” she said to both of them. “If either of you brought your laptop and need to go online, Internet is available at the house. There’s also a television room, if you want to watch anything tonight. Supper will be served at seven. It isn’t anything fancy, just stew and biscuits. I’ll see you then, or you can come in earlier to watch television or talk.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Chad said, smiling nervously. Davis’s hard, cold eyes said he disagreed, but at least he kept his opinion to himself.

As she strode back to the house, Angie reminded herself that this wasn’t about her, it was more about the dynamics between Chad and his client, and they weren’t good. He was trying so hard to impress Mr. Davis, and Davis was making it plain that he thought the entire trip was second-rate at best.

The success of the trip would depend on whether or not the hunt was a good one. Though it was getting late in the year, not all the bears would have denned yet; the weather had been relatively mild, so some bears would still be active. She would find Mr. Davis a bear or bust a gut trying.

She half-expected Chad to come up to the house before the dinner hour, but to her surprise it was Mr. Davis who showed up. He carried a laptop case. “I need to check some reports,” he said brusquely.

“Sure. Right in here,” she said, showing him to the small den outfitted with a flat-screen television and satellite Internet; in the corner was a desk with a wifi modem. She gave him an index card with a string of numbers typed on it. “This is the wifi password.”

“Thanks.” He was already taking out his laptop, but at least he’d made a nod toward manners.

“You’re welcome.”

She left to give him some privacy, and finished setting the table. People didn’t come on hunting trips expecting bone china and silver utensils, so she didn’t even try to go that route. The plates and bowls she set out were sturdy earthenware, glazed a dark green with black rims, and she used a particularly heavy set of stainless steel. She did put out cloth napkins, made from a thick, heavy-duty, dark green cotton that didn’t show stains.

The meal was a simple one, with the stew, fresh homemade biscuits, and chocolate cake. She knew all three were above average. Maybe she wasn’t a great cook but she was a darn good one, and she enjoyed it when she had the time. When she’d lived in Billings, with access to a greater variety of ingredients, she’d liked experimenting with different dishes. Maybe someday she’d be able to try her hand at different stuff again, but right now all she could handle was the basic, hearty dishes. Part of this stew, for instance, had already been put in the freezer for next week, when she was back from this hunt. With nothing else on her books, and no anticipation of any further income for the next several months, she couldn’t afford to throw away any food.

At ten to seven, Chad appeared in the door to the dining room. “Smells good,” he said.

“Thank you.” She gave him a smile, keeping it neutral, but a smile all the same. “Mr. Davis is in the den, on his laptop.”

Chad made an awkward gesture. “I won’t disturb him. Is there, ah, any way I can help?”

“Just by eating your fill,” she replied. “Everything’s under control.” She checked the time. “The biscuits are ready to come out of the oven, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“I’m sorry. Sure. I didn’t mean—”

“You’re my guest,” she said, breaking in on his stammered apology. She tried another smile on him, hoping to settle him down. “It’ll take just a minute to bring in the food. I hope you like chocolate cake!”

“I love it,” he said, looking relieved at the change of subject.

Dinner conversation was going to be heavy-going, but at least she didn’t have to be in there, she reflected as she took the biscuits out of the oven and placed them in a napkin-lined bread basket, which she placed on a tray along with the big tureen of stew. She carried the tray into the dining room and set everything on the table, then put the tray aside. “What would you like to drink? I have milk, hot tea, coffee, and beer. Water, too, of course.”

“Ah, beer.” He seemed a little self-conscious as he said it, though she couldn’t think why.

“A beer for me, too,” said Mr. Davis as he came into the dining room.

Angie returned to the kitchen, got two beers from the refrigerator, and poured them into glasses. As she set the glasses down in front of the men, Chad said, “Aren’t you eating with us?” When he’d been here before she’d done exactly that, but the company had been more convivial. She didn’t have any hard-and-fast rule about eating with clients, but neither did she believe in torturing herself if she could get out of it, so no way was she having a meal with these two tonight.

“I’ve already eaten,” she said, which was a bald-faced lie, but so what? She’d get something to eat in the kitchen, either that or wait until she was cleaning up and have a bowl of stew then. She’d rather do without entirely than eat with them.

“Have you scouted out the area where we’re going?” Davis asked as they sat down to eat.

She paused on her way out of the dining room. “I have, a few days ago when I took supplies up to the camp I’ve leased. There was fresh bear sign.”

“But you didn’t actually see a bear?”

“No, but I wasn’t trying to. I didn’t want to make contact with one beforehand.” She’d been armed, of course, but she’d also been alone. Bears gave her the heebie-jeebies, even when she was with a hunting party, so she sure wasn’t about to go looking for one when she was by herself. That was something she’d keep to herself, of course; knowing your guide was afraid wasn’t something that would make a client feel confident.