The Serpent's Bite Page 5

  They forded streams and moved through meadows and forest areas where signs of the big fire of 1988 remained. During these passages through blackened spires, Harry offered lectures on how the area was regenerating, pointing out fireweed, spirea, snowbush, and lapine, names that barely penetrated her consciousness.

  “Look how high the lodgepoles have grown. Hard to believe this area was burned to a crisp years ago. Nature always wins.”

  For brief moments, as Courtney’s memory of the earlier trip expanded in her mind, warm sentiment began to poke its way through the ice of her rage, and she found herself longing to return to that time when hope and optimism still had strong currency.

  Unfortunately such pleasant feelings were transitory, and her thoughts returned to the single-minded focus of her life. Whatever the difficulties, she would submit cheerfully to her father’s whimsical attempt at rebonding with his children. Keep your eye on the money, she told herself.

  Chapter 3

  At one point after about three hours on the trail, the first mule on the pack train refused to cross a stream. Tomas dismounted, grabbed the lead, and pulled hard to get the mule to move. Filling the air with angry Spanish invective, he could not get the mule to budge. He pummeled his rump and kicked the animal’s legs, all to no avail.

  “Pull harder, you idiot,” Harry muttered. “Fuckin’ dumb Mexican. Pull the sumbitch.”

  Although he seemed to be making an effort not to be heard by those mounted behind the mules on the other side of the stream, his voice carried.

  The more Tomas strained, the more he kicked, the more stubborn the mule became.

  “Donno shit,” Harry said, cursing under his breath. He jumped down from his horse and roughly pushed the Mexican out of his way. Tomas slipped and landed with both feet into the stream. Recovering, he moved back onto the bank, his pants wet to the knees.

  “He ‘fraid to move,” Tomas said.

  “I told you to put him in the rear,” Harry muttered. “Stupid ass fuck.”

  “You tole me put him in front, Señor Harry.”

  “You calling me a liar, dumb spic?” Harry spit out, between clenched teeth.

  “No, Señor Harry,” Tomas said.

  “Brains in your ass,” Harry mumbled. “Bring the others up,” he ordered. Tomas stepped into the stream and managed with some effort to get the two mules behind the stubborn one to move forward.

  “What’s happening?” Temple called from the rear.

  “Young mule won’t move his ass,” Harry shouted. He watched as Tomas led the two mules across the stream, leaving the stationary mule standing in the stream.

  “Now what?” Scott asked.

  “See if he’ll follow the leader,” Harry said, pulling on the mule’s lead. Tomas attended to the two mules, making sure the burdens they carried were secure. It took the better part of an hour and much frustration on Harry’s part to get the mule to finally move. “Dumb as shit,” Harry muttered, throwing a glance at Tomas, as if he had been the cause of the situation.

  Scott watched, noting that Harry’s treatment of the Mexican was both mean and racial, despite his earlier remarks on Tomas’s qualities. It struck a sour note and from the expression on his father’s face, a predictable reaction of disgust. Repeated instances of such conduct would trigger his father’s zealous liberalism and could switch emphasis and derail the prospects of a happy outcome for himself and his sister.

  It was bad enough that he was a reluctant participant in this repeat trek through the wilderness, however abridged, but he could do with less extraneous baggage. Yet, despite the loathsome hardship and discomfort that lay ahead, Scott could not deny the ultimate goal, if achieved, would be worth the suffering. All right, he agreed, twenty-odd years ago it had been a blast, but that was then and this was now.

  His knees, weakened by basketball and jogging, were killing him. They were not more than three hours into the trek when he had to pop three more ibuprofen. He hadn’t realized that his position on the horse would be harder on the knees than the behind. When his sister had called him in Seattle, he had confirmed his participation.

  “I hated the idea but I sure as hell said yes,” he had told her. “I assume you did as well.”

  “Of course. He put it on the basis of a family thing. You, me, and him, together in the wilderness.”

  “How do you read it?”

  He was conscious of the old deference surfacing again, the inescapable first response behavior pattern between them. Resist, he warned himself, remembering what had happened when he got too close to the flame.

  “He wants his family back, his two little kiddies. He’s in reevaluation mode. Who knows? Could be the guilt thing has finally kicked in.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Impending doom. Acting before it’s too late. This is not out of the blue. He must have given it a lot of thought. He wants to recapture something of that earlier time.”

  “It seems pretty obvious.”

  “As long as it spurs him to open the old checkbook, I’m all for it,” Courtney chuckled. “Despite all the wilderness bullshit.”

  “Seems a long way to go. Not exactly creature comfort–friendly. But if it does the job, I suppose we should take the medicine.”

  “That’s what I say,” she said with a giggle. “It came as a shock, hearing his voice after four years.”

  “Surprise, surprise. I thought you two were over.”

  “Blood is never over, brother mine,” she said, then began a long pause.

  Scott guessed she was giving him review time, offering blanks instead of words. Although they communicated sporadically via e-mail and telephone, he hadn’t seen her since his mother’s funeral.

  Then she spoke again.

  “Whatever the reason, I figure he needs this shot of nostalgia to get in touch with his sense of paternity. Maybe make tangible amends.”

  He knew what she meant.

  “Maybe. But then, you’ve got to admit that both of us have gone to the well too many times. Look at it from his point of view. He’s got two losers for kids.”

  “Same old Scott,” she shot back. “Life on the downside. Grow-up time, Scottie. And speak for yourself. I’m still in play, kiddo.”

  He ignored her rebuttal. He knew better than to argue, knowing her obsession with stardom and celebrity was still very much intact, and her burning ambition was as hot as ever. But then his motives were different, weren’t they? Years of therapy hadn’t quite worked it out. He had tried for years, by distance and thought control, to extinguish her influence on his life, a futile effort.

  “Hell, I thought this last time I was on my way,” he continued. “My dot-com was rolling up pretty good numbers, then bingo, the bottom fell out. How do you tell a guy that put up millions that it wasn’t my fault?”

  “It’s never your fault, Scott.”

  “Shit, look who’s talking!”

  He hated her in this mode.

  “Hell, Scottie. You could have avoided all this crap by just going into the business. Make a bundle. You still can.”

  “I’d rather cut my wrists.”

  He had thought often about doing just that.

  “Better than the bankruptcy courts,” she muttered.

  “Do you have to?”

  “Sorry.”

  “I have a talent for bad timing. But I’m not over yet. In fact, I’m noodling a new deal. No more high tech. Restaurants. Food. Basic industry. Everybody has to eat. It’s a small chain of Italian restaurants, very viable. I can get in for about a million five and paper.”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Scott. I’ve been listening to your pipe dreams all my life.”

  “Don’t start, Courtney. No heavy stuff, remember.”

  “Ditto. No heavy stuff.”

  She had promised years ago to keep the past between them sealed. He felt a brief nag of memory of their puberty games, then let it pass. It was too precarious.

  “Are you in shape f
or this trek, Courtney?”

  “In shape? Story of my life. I work out two hours a day. Hell, got to look good for auditions.”

  “Not me. I’m showing wear, little sister. Bad habits. Booze, smoking, overeating. Tension and pressure.” He sighed and felt himself falling into a pit of self-pity. He tried to visualize her face. Years ago there was an eerie resemblance between them, two peas from one pod.

  “It was tough going if I remember. Ten days. For city slickers like us, it was hard but …,” she paused, “… unforgettable.”

  He knew what she meant and quickly changed the focus.

  “You think he can hack it? He’s really pushing the envelope. Hell, he’s nearly eleven years over the guide’s age limit for the trip.”

  “He always kept himself in shape,” she said. “Walked a lot. Used the treadmill before it was trendy.”

  “He takes pills for blood pressure, remember,” he interjected. “And the altitude. It’s supposed to elevate it.”

  “His choice. Can’t blame us if he…you know.”

  He knew what she meant.

  “I can hear the applause,” he smirked.

  “That’s my heart, Scottie, beating a victory march.”

  “You haven’t got a heart, Courtney.”

  She let it pass and continued. “Grandma and Grandpa lived until their mid eighties, remember. He’s got good genes. With modern medicine he could go into the nineties. Not like Mom. We never knew that side. They all died young. No, expect the old man to go on and on. Maybe even find a new lady.”

  “Good for him.”

  “Oh shit, you idiot. That’s all we need, another hand in the honey pot.”

  “I’m sure he’d be smart enough to have a prenup.”

  “Prenup?” she giggled. “You seem familiar with the nomenclature. Are you considering a union?”

  “Not on the agenda, Courtney.”

  Some of his relationships with women had brought him to the brink. But he could never take the final step. Therapists had provided what seemed like a thousand reasons. He had no desire to discuss them, especially with Courtney, the prime cause of his dysfunction.

  “I’m not probing,” she said.

  “Good,” he agreed. Under no circumstances did he want to open that Pandora’s box.

  “Maybe a new lady is the point of all this,” she mused. “Got to be a good reason for his makeover. He’s using remembrance of things past to announce his new tack. Tell his kiddies that he’s got a Mom replacement. Who knows what guilt goes on in his bleeding heart? Some bitch gets her tentacles into an old dude, there goes the ballgame.”

  “If there is a ballgame,” Scott said. “He might have cut us out.”

  “You’ve been in touch with him over the years. No clue?”

  “If once every six months means keeping in touch.”

  “Maybe this is what this so-called adventure is all about,” Courtney mused. “If it is a lady, we could be fucked, financially speaking.” She added quickly. “But then, as you say, we might have already been cut out of the will or considerably diminished.”

  “And if we are?”

  “There’s always lawyers,” Courtney said.

  “Fuck lawyers. Could drag on for years.”

  “Of course, if he’s got a lady, and she gets her claws into him, say bye-bye to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. All that pillow talk after you know what. There’s Viagra today. Good sex will do it. Goes a long way.”

  The comment made his stomach knot. Leave it alone, he begged.

  “When did you talk to him last, Scottie? I mean before he called about the trip.”

  “Couple of months. He never mentioned anything about a new woman. It was not, by the way, a very pleasant conversation. Not at my end. He refused to get involved in my deal, not that I can blame him. But he is, after all, our father, and it wouldn’t break him to give me just one more shot. I’m afraid, Courtney, that we’ve run out the string.”

  “As long as he’s alive …” She paused for a long moment, cleared her throat, and continued. “Out there in no-man’s-land, anything can happen.”

  “I don’t understand …,” he began, disturbed by the implication.

  Then she continued the thought. “Especially to someone his age.”

  “Jesus, Courtney.”

  “It’s pretty dangerous out there. And he’s not as limber as he was twenty-odd years ago. You know what I mean? He could fall off his horse. And we’re going on mountain trails.”

  “I’m sure he’s given it lots of thought. He’s been there before.”

  “So have we. Why choose a trek like that? Your ass on a fucking horse, shitting in a damned hole, cleaning up in water that is colder than a witch’s tit in hell, sleeping stiff in a sleeping bag like you were a mummy, coyotes screaming in your ears all night, prowling grizzlies, lousy cowboy food, fucking wild animals everywhere, hungry predators, miles from civilization. Good God.”

  “He has his reasons, I suppose,” Scott said. “Bring us together again. Bonding.”

  “Well worth it if he shows us the money. Great bonding material, money.”

  “You’ve got a one track mind, Courtney.”

  He had expected the conversation to be at an end. But then his sister began again.

  “On the other hand, maybe he’s going to tell us that he’s been diagnosed with some rare deadly disease, and this is his way to kind of make a statement. A last hurrah kind of thing.”

  “You seem to be stuck on the subject of his…you know what I mean.”

  “Wishful thinking maybe,” Courtney blurted.

  While her remark was chilling, he wondered if he was seriously capable of entertaining such a cold-blooded thought. He was his father, for crying out loud.

  “See you on the other side of hell, big bro,” she said, hanging up.

  Chapter 4

  On the drive to the trailhead, their father had confined his remarks to the glories of the digital camera, which he described as a miracle of technology.

  “No more film, and you can instantly check whether you’ve got the picture right. Takes much better digital than the iPhone.”

  “I remember last time, Dad,” Courtney said, determined to maintain a posture of approval and interest. “You took lots of great pictures.”

  “Yes, I did,” her father acknowledged. “And looking at them always brings back happy memories. I get lots of shots out of this little baby. And if I don’t like them, I wipe them out.” He held up the camera. “Easy as pie.”

  “Good, Dad,” Scott interjected. “I left my camera home. Old-fashioned kind. Not digital. I’m into happy memories, but I’m not much for the tangible kind. Often they don’t tell the real story.”

  He looked toward Courtney, offering a sarcastic half smile. Despite his vow to avoid assessing her physically, he could not resist inspection. She was, indeed, in remarkably good shape. Her figure, accentuated by her tight jeans and shirt, which pulled tightly against her high breasts, remained youthful and sexy. Her hazel eyes, showing emerald green in the clear sunlight, were as startling as ever, and her high cheekbones and chiseled, straight nose gave her a haughty look, perhaps too haughty for the Hollywood version of female vulnerability. Abruptly, as he contemplated her Cupid’s-bow lips, he ceased his assessment, feeling what he had repressed for years begin again.

  During the process of matching rider with horse, Harry had checked each person’s baggage for weight, noting that they were above his declared weight limit of thirty pounds per person to spare the mules. Scott had brought some heavy cartons of wine, and Courtney had admitted to carrying three bottles of Stoli. Their father declared a bottle of scotch, but after a brief lighthearted debate, they opted to leave other items behind and retain the beverages.

  “Booze always wins hands down,” Harry laughed, his unusually florid complexion suggesting his own obvious predilection.

  As Harry saddled the horses and fiddled with the tack and stirrups, Temple shot
a number of pictures, some posed, some candid.

  Scott studied his father carefully as they mounted up. He looked reasonably fit, although he had needed help from both Harry and Tomas to climb into the saddle.

  Earlier, on first meeting his father that morning, he noted that the man was his usual fatherly self, embracing them, as if nothing had occurred between them that had ruffled the paternal relationship. They were not baffled by his gesture, since he had always exhibited these demonstrative signs of affection, although Scott had noted that it did seem odd after a four-year silence to greet Courtney in a similar manner without comment about their long estrangement.

  “You’re looking lovely, darling,” he told her.

  “Thanks, Dad,” she had replied. “You’re looking very well yourself.”

  Both siblings exchanged glances, ignoring the obvious change of hair color and whitened, even set of teeth. On closer inspection, he seemed to look slightly different around the eyes, indicating unmistakably that he had had cosmetic surgery.

  If their father noted their reaction, he ignored it. Scott was relieved at his affability. There was not a hint of tension or acrimony, and he appeared genuinely and sincerely happy to see them both. Scott admitted to himself that he was pleased to see how well he looked, and it was not without a brief pang of shame that he recalled any unkind thoughts he might have entertained.

  It had always amazed him that, despite deep disagreements and heated arguments, his father never wavered from playing the role of the wise and affectionate progenitor. He had always been a doting, concerned, supportive father, and Scott never doubted for a moment that both he and Courtney were loved children. As they grew older, Scott sensed that his father might have thought of them as errant pets that had never been quite housebroken.

  Scott had been very disappointed in their last face-to-face confrontation during one of his infrequent visits. He had come to New York specifically for the purpose of getting his father to invest in his new enterprise. The old man had refused.

  “I’m sorry, Scott, I’ve done more than enough, far beyond the call of fatherly duty. Besides, a restaurant business is foolhardy, too labor-intensive and dangerous. Restaurants as a category are the most dangerous businesses in the world.”