Page 54 of Damned
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bears?Bree gulped down her panic, but hurried to retrieve Kruze’s bag. And here she’d been walking back and forth between the wreckage and their camp, like an edible ninny all afternoon, not worried about hungry wildlife, only Berfende. What a fool she’d been. He couldn’t possibly know where she was, but Mother Nature did.
She speed-walked back to Kruze, as quickly as she could make her feet and legs go. Bears hunted at night, didn’t they? Were they Black Bears or vicious, man-eating Grizzlies? She darned well wanted to know. And what about cougars and… and moose? Wasn’t Maine known for its large, healthy moose population? Or wolves? Or…Oh, my gosh, wolverines!They were just plain nasty-tempered and vicious. Was Maine their habitat, too? Did they roam these forests? She couldn’t get back to Kruze fast enough.
He held out his hand for the bag, but it was heavy. Bree set it beside him, at his uninjured side, then knelt beside it. “Bear spray? Really? There’s such a thing?”
“You bet. It’s a mixture of capsaicin and capsaicinoids. Ninety-eight percent effective.” He already had the zipper open and was searching his bag. Instead of a can of anything, he brought up another pistol, this one twice the size of his others. Taking a box of large shells out of the bag next, he loaded the weapon with practiced ease, like it wasn’t as big as a cannon.
“You expect me to shoot that thing?”
“No, sugar. This pistol’s too large for your hands, and even if you could hold it, it’d knock you flat on your ass when you fired it. It would hurt you.” Kruze aimed the pistol into the darkness, then laid it on the ground next to him. He set the box of shells beside it, then rummaged through his bag until he came up with two spray cans. He gave one to Bree, and told her, “Most bears avoid people, but some get nosey, and every once in a while, you come across one that’s just plain mean.”
“Humph. Just like people.”
“Yeah, sure. Trust me, we don’t care what bear comes calling, understood? If any come into this camp—” He popped the top off the yellow-labeled aerosol can with a large, round trigger. “Aim for eyes and nose. That’s where this stuff’ll do the most good. It’s got a thirty-foot reach, so don’t let him get too close. Keep spraying until he starts bawling and hightails it out of here.”
“Will it kill him?”
“No, it’ll sting like a son of a bitch, and it’ll make him think twice before he comes around again. We just want to scare him. There’s no sense killing a curious animal.”
“Then why the big gun?”
“Last resort, Bree. When dealing with a crazed animal, this’ll put it down.”
By then, her heart was racing. Bree lifted a hand to her chest, as if there were any way she could slow the poor thing.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I just…” What could she say? A little fear kept people alive. “I’m fine, honest. You’re the one with a hole in your side. I’ve just got a crazy flutter in my chest.”
Man, Kruze was adorable, even injured. His jaw seemed sharper with the five o’clock scruff shadowing his face. He put a hand on Bree’s shoulder, as if to reassure her, when what she really wanted was a kiss. “You’re scared, I get that. And I’m injured, but trust me, I won’t let anything get to you. And yeah, bears sniff around at night—”
“You mean they hunt,” she said pointedly.
“Yes. Carnivorous animals all hunt at night, but we’ll be okay. I’m from Montana now, remember? I’ve hunted bigger, badder animals than bears.”
“If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it’s not working.” What could be worse than a crazed bear?
Kruze stood his can of bear spray next to the ammo. He dusted his hands together. “We need a bed. You didn’t happen to find any tarps or ropes or—”
Bree jumped to her feet and retrieved what he needed. By the time she was back, Kruze was on his feet, unsteady, with one palm to the tree trunk, but upright.
“You should sit down and let me figure this out,” she told him.
He shook his head, as if that helped him see better, but his forehead glistened with sweat, and he was breathing hard. “I’m good. Done this a million times,” Kruze said as he split the plastic wrappings on the tarps, both which were eight-by-twelve. “The black side goes up.” He uncoiled the nylon rope next. “Grab that rock” —he nodded his chin at a nearby hand-sized rock and broken branch— “and pound that stick into the ground, about eight feet from this tree. If it breaks, find another one.”
When he reached both arms around the tree, Bree had enough. “You’re bleeding. Sit down. I can do this.”
“In a sec,” Kruze bit out, as he brought both ends of the rope around the trunk, tied a quick succession of slipknots, then tossed her the longer end of the rope. “Secure this on that stake, then we’ll clip one of these tarps to the rope. Hustle.”
She hurried, her need to get Kruze off his feet urging her on. Without asking, she dug through his gear bag and located several metal clips that looked like potato-chip-bag clips. Whatever their primary use was, she didn’t care. Bree had the tarp clipped to the rope in no time, stretched out, and staked into a decent lean-to. It might not keep them warm, but it would keep them dry if it rained. Then, because she’d worked up a good head of steam since Kruze was still on his darned feet, she grabbed the other tarp and floated it over the ground beneath the one-sided tent, and told him, “You. Bed. Now. Take your holster off and reorganize all that ammo while you’re at it.”
“Good hell, you’re bossy.” He gave her a smart-aleck salute, but pain etched his handsome face when he walked over to their dwindling stack of supplies, peered down at it, and asked, “We got anything to eat?”
“You bet,” Bree told him tartly, her hands on her hips and tired of playing this guy’s games. Honestly, Kruze had so much male ego, she was surprised he could walk into any room without knocking himself out on the doorjamb. “I’ll be happy to fix something for you, but only if you sit down. Now.” She pointed at the tent’s floor for emphasis. “Who do you think salvaged all our supplies?”
“You did. But I brought another bag with us and—”
