Timberline Trail Read Free Page A

on a winter’s evening. The entire cabin, powered by a propane generator, had so far weathered the fickle nature of the Alaskan winter without a hitch. While the cabin measured only twelve hundred square feet, Tia could ask for no better place to work and live. On a day like today she felt as if she would never leave.
     
     
    The man lowered his binoculars and frowned as he pulled his light-green parka closer and shivered. He already missed the heat and bustle of LA, for the coolness of this early September day was as cold as it ever got in LA, and the stranger understood now why he rarely left the comfort of that addictive Mediterranean climate. The cabin was too remote and too damn lonely for his cultured tastes. He observed the generator located in the small wooden shed to the south of the log cabin. The sun shone brightly upon the front door of the cabin and the girl he’d been observing for several days had disappeared inside after her jog. A movement to the far left of the cabin attracted his attention and he jerked up his head quickly, his dark eyes frowning. A loan loafer wolf slowly circled the sturdily built cabin. It lifted its nose in the air for a moment before breaking into a run, moving effortlessly on long gray legs. The watcher shuddered and pulled his rifle closer. Only yesterday he’d heard a crashing in the bush and whirled about to witness a large grizzly bear ambling away from him, flies buzzing around his matted fur.
    Just a bout noon and ready to make his move, an old gray pickup truck pulled into the narrow gravel driveway fronting Tia’s cabin. A Native-American woman pushed her heavy frame from the beat-up vehicle and carried two bags of groceries into the cabin. Damn! She appeared ready for a long visit so the house’s observer decided to retreat, determined not to invade as it got close to dark since he was uncertain of the terrain and her welcome. He trudged up the hill toward his 4x4, parked just off the road, feeling disgruntled and put out. Hearing a crackle in the bush to the right of him he whirled, his rifle poised.
    A small wolverine-type creature faced him, its black nose twitching in the wind as it tried to identify his scent. He’d heard about the vicious wolverine of the far north and tensed, not realizing it was simply a marmot, who, while resembling the wolverine, was more akin to the woodchuck and thus inoffensive to humans. The creature crinkled its nose at the disgusting smell of the man and backed off, flinging one last indignant look before disappearing into the underbrush. The man relaxed. He didn’t like dirt or animals and could hardly wait to get home. He scratched absently at a mosquito bite and headed toward the green Kia Sorento. Flinging his rifle off his shoulder and adding his binoculars and backpack to the cluttered passenger seat, he shifted his tall body into the driver’s seat. The 4x4 turned over with scarcely a roar before easing back onto the road as he drove off through the trees, hoping to reach his destination before dusk.
    Unbeknownst to him , another had watched him watching her. The lean man straightened and brushed off the dirt from his cargo pants, his keen eyes missing nothing from the license plate number to the man’s reaction to the marmot. Certain the stalker’s compact Kia had disappeared down the gravel road for the day he backed away, disappearing into a stand of Sitka spruce. He wound his way down a familiar trail he’d forged only a few days previously and wondered just what Tia Heath was hiding. Whatever it was he would find out, no matter how long it took.
     
     
    Tia always enjoyed visits from her friend Mary Whitebird, a native Tanaina woman of the Thabaskan -speaking tribes from the interior of Alaska. Mary still lived with her family who’d settled over thirty years ago in this remote region south of the Denali Park, and did quite well with her husband who made his living as a truck driver along the Trans-Canada and Alcan