Page 1 of A Rebel's Shot

ONE

The unrelenting rain patted on Tiikâan’s hat.

Its subtletap-tap-tapblanketed the woods, blurring his surroundings and cocooning him in the cleansing scent of spruce resin and musky moss. Sure, it wasn’t the best weather to hunt in, but he loved the isolating peacefulness.

He shifted on the old school bus seat screwed into the tree stand and scanned the woods for any sign of bear.

He shouldn’t be here.

Not with his checklist lengthening faster than items were crossed off.

But when he’d arrived at the stand where he hunted bears to dismantle it and found tracks so big his boot fit in them, he couldn’t resist climbing up to the tree stand and sitting awhile.

Awhile turned to three hours, and he still couldn’t bring himself to climb down the rungs and pack out.

This was the best part of the Alaskan summer.

All winter he dreamed of snow-free woods where his only conversations happened with squirrels. Of preying on the predator and filling both his freezer and his spirit before he started flying paid clients to his secret spots to help them scratch their own hunting itch.

However, this time he’d miss out on his favorite part of the year, exchanging it to play air taxi for some highfalutin oil exec all summer.

Why the heck had he agreed to the job?

Was the ridiculous amount of money worth missing out on all of this? He scanned the forest, watching the branches playfully dance with the rain and second-guessed his decision.

More like hundredth-guessed it.

He growled low and yanked a bite off his caribou jerky. Resentment made his jaw hurt more than the tough meat.

Not that he didn’t love flying as much as he did hunting. But the thought of carting this guy back and forth from the mine site to Barrow day in and day out for the next two to three months sounded more torturous than his tour in the Air Force.

Just remember the money.

He had to think of how much closer to his dream the summer of doom would get him. How instead of teetering too close to everything crashing down in a pile of debt, he could not only get back in the black but also start building the hunting cabin he’d wanted for more years than he could remember.

He closed his eyes and pictured the clear lake deep in the Alaskan bush he owned.

His hands squeezed the grip of the bow like he would the yoke of his Maule M-7-235c and pictured himself easing the plane onto the flat water. He puttered up to the dock jutting out from shore, the small hunting cabin of his dreams framed perfectly in the windshield.

That’s what this sacrifice would get him.

The money he’d make over the next months would be enough to get him out of debt, build his cabin,andbuy the boat needed to take clients up the river that fed the lake. One summer of misery would set his business up for life.

He could handle that.

He’d just have to return here in his mind whenever his pretentious cargo or the monotony got to him.

A soft scratching sounded below. A breeze blew through the tight clearing, sending the off-putting scent of dog food coated in fryer grease and cheap syrup up to him. Okay. So, he wouldn’t miss the smell of the mixture they used to lure the bears in.

He pulled his collar up to bury his nose in the front of his coat. The air shifted, and he paused.

Another scent tainted the air.

The hair rose on his neck.

Leaning forward in the tree stand, he slid his jerky into his pocket and peered below. Beady black eyes stared up at him from right beneath the stand. A giant grizzly stood on his hind legs, stretching his front paws up the tree toward him.

Fear balled in Tiikâan’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

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