grunts of the bear, discordant and harsh, and then there was nothing.
Chapter Four
The next day, Angie got up at the crack of dawn and started work. The day before leaving on a guide trip was the most work-intensive, every time. Her dad had built three small guest cabins, just big enough for private sleeping and bath areas, and today was the day she had to clean the two cabins that would be used, put on fresh sheets, lay out fresh towels, etc. When her dad had been alive, and for the first year she’d been back, there had been enough money to hire a local woman to do that work, but since then Angie had been doing it all herself.
On top of getting the cabins ready, with Harlan coming to take pictures for the website, she did some major damage control in the main house, too. Living alone as she did, sometimes she’d let little things slide, and before she knew it there were a ton of little things that threatened to become an avalanche of junk.
Her clients were due in late that afternoon. They were renting a vehicle in Butte and driving in. Rather than go through the hassle of bringing their rifles through the airport, they’d shipped them in; the boxes had arrived four days ago. She had all the permitsin order, they had their licenses, and all of that was good to go. Tonight she’d have to feed them, so she put a hearty stew in the slow cooker.
By the time all of that was done, it was early afternoon. She sat at the kitchen table, half-listening to the television as she finished packing the supplies they would need. She had a checklist that she printed out before every trip, and as she added each item she checked it off the list. Basic first-aid items were included, as well as canned or dried food, bear spray—the big canisters, with as high a concentration of pepper as state law allowed, and four for each person—powerful LED flashlights with new batteries in them, and other items. She didn’t take safety issues lightly. She didn’t hunt, she merely guided, but all the same her rifle was freshly cleaned, the scope sighted in, and she had plenty of ammo … just in case.
The sound of a vehicle outside made her stand and look out the kitchen window as Harlan was climbing out of his truck. She’d set up the coffeemaker ahead of time, so as she passed by on the way to the door she pushed the brew button to start the machine.
“Come on in,” she called, holding the door open. “Coffee’s making.”
“Sounds good.”
When her dad was still alive Harlan had been over many times, but this was his first visit since she’d moved back and taken over the place. He looked around the kitchen with interest, noting the changes she’d made, such as refinishing the cabinet doors and replacing the old hardware and repainting. The appliances were nothing fancy but they were all fairly new, thank goodness, because now she couldn’t afford to replace them.
“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 olddiscolored, 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
E.L. Blaisdell, Nica Curt