Chapter 1
Monday, July 10
Roosevelt National Forest
Above Scarlet Springs, Colo.
Naomi Archer putanother log on the fire, the blaze offering warmth against the evening chill. The sun had set behind the mountains a few minutes ago, its last rays stretching pink across the sky. Although it was July, there were still patches of snow on the high peaks, their summits bright in the waning light.
It was breathtaking.
She sat back in her camp chair and inhaled, the soft crackling of the fire and the mingled scents of smoke, pine, and fresh mountain air bringing a sense of peace. How long had she dreamed of this vacation?
Forever, it seemed.
She’d first come to Denver for a silversmithing workshop, had seen the mountains through the dirty window of her cheap hotel room, and had promised herself she’d come back to visit those mountains one day when she could afford it. It had taken her five long years of waiting tables and making jewelry on the side to keep that promise, but here she was—not in a cheap hotel room, but camping on National Forest land with her own gear.
A big raven landed on a pine branch across from her and gave a throaty caw.
Naomi wished she had her camera within reach. “Hey, there.”
Corvus corax.
She used ravens in her jewelry more than any other creature, and when a client had asked her why, she hadn’t had an answer. She’d mumbled something about ravens being intelligent and playful. Only later, after she’d had time to think about it, had the answer come to her. For her, ravens were a symbol of freedom.
She had watched them fly over the fields of the farm where she’d grown up, watched them tumble in the wind, watched them defy Peter’s attempts to keep them out of his corn, and she had envied them.
The bird cocked its head at her, its feathers gleaming blue-black in the twilight. It hopped down the branch and cawed again, moving a bit closer.
Oh, this would have been the perfect shot.Damn!
She supposed the little guy was hoping for a handout, but she knew better than to feed wildlife. Even if it weren’t bad for the raven, National Forest rules prohibited it. “Sorry, buddy. I don’t have anything for you.”
The bird cawed once more, then flew off, as if it had understood her.
She watched it until it had disappeared into the forest canopy. She’d seen a small herd of mule deer and a tiny kit fox while hiking today. They hadn’t seemed afraid of her but had gone about their business with barely a glance in her direction while she photographed them. She was hoping to use her photos and sketches to inspire jewelry when she got home again—if she went home.
She’d been here for only two days, and already she was in love with Colorado. She could imagine herself living in a little mountain cabin, stands of aspen for a front yard, maybe a little creek gurgling somewhere nearby. True, she would have to start from scratch, meeting with merchants, getting her jewelry into their shops, building her clientele. But most of her income came from her website and catalog sales. If she wanted to relocate to Colorado, she could make it work.
The idea excited her. If she relocated, she’d be able to spend every day up in the mountains, not just rare vacations. She might even be able to open her own boutique in one of these small mountain towns. Best of all, she’d be able to make a new start far from everything that reminded her of her past.
She got to her feet and washed her supper dishes, then packed them and the rest of her food in the back of her battered old Honda CR-V, her mind lost in thoughts of her imaginary boutique. She would sell her jewelry but also that of other artisans, along with paintings and photography and maybe even textiles if—
“Well, hello, there.”
She spun around, a startled cry trapped in her throat.
Two men stood just beyond the firelight. She took in their appearance at a glance—unkempt hair, scraggly beards, baggy jeans, and jackets—and took a step backward, instinct telling her to jump into her vehicle, lock the doors, and drive.
One of the two men raised his hand in greeting, his unshaven face breaking into a smile. “Sorry to spook you, miss. We’re just camping yonder and thought we’d say hello. I’m Arlie, and my buddy here is Clem. We’re from Texas.”
“Hey.” Clem gave her a nod.
“Hey.” She slipped a hand into the pocket of her jacket, searching for her cell phone, then remembered she’d left it in her backpack, which was in the tent a good ten feet to her right.
Damn it.
She couldn’t be sure the two men meant her harm, but she knew better than to ignore her instincts. These men were predators.