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Nutcases still bothered them occasionally, and they’d stopped two snipers and an attempt to firebomb Wiz’s house using a drone. The forest fire had cleared the undergrowth above her house, so she’d brought the drone down with a weighted net fired from a slingshot—purchased after the first paparazzi drones overflew her house—and the snipers had been easy to find. She’d used her own drone to drop “leave or die” messages on their hideouts; they’d packed up and left. On the dark web, professional hitters had marked her as too big a risk for the pay. Amateurs tried occasionally, but after one disappeared entirely, abandoning his car at a trailhead, they’d been more cautious. A hunter had found that man’s remains the next fall; he’d slipped and fallen into a creek before he’d gotten more than a mile from his vehicle. Wiz had never seen him; Montana’s weather and geography had proven deadly.
Troubled by her ex’s last statement that “they were going to kill him,” Wiz had investigated Jeff’s life since their divorce. He’d built huge gambling debts, owing several criminal organizations, including the Russian mob. Some of those organizations had attempted to extort Jeff’s debts from Wiz. She’d started a website and posted every attempt publicly, encouraging other business owners in the area to stand up to the criminals attempting to infiltrate Marcus for their money-laundering and protection rackets. She’d found some troubling ties to Marcus law enforcement and Marcus City Bank, but nothing concrete.
In an effort to fight back against the smear campaigns, Wiz had agreed to participate in a documentary film highlighting the ongoing prevalence of sexual assault in the military. No immediate changes had been made, but every bit of attention drawn to the problem helped, and she was thrilled to assist. Unfortunately, since the perpetrator was dead, the military had declined to reopen the investigation into Wiz’s assault, despite her lingering suspicion that he hadn’t acted alone.
Even with all the furor, Wiz’s business thrived. Tom had become the public face of the company, making many potential clients more comfortable. With her strident stance against organized crime, few of those people attempted to contact her anymore. Tom chose their clientele carefully, and immediately dropped those who moved into dangerous or illegal dealings, as stated in their contracts.
Since he and Wiz were settled, Dad had opened to change as well. Wiz had bought into the Rocking B Ranch. With her funding, they’d swapped over to raising their beef entirely on grass. They’d hired more ranch hands and marketing help; the local community was happy and supportive. Dad was casually dating some of the ladies who’d been after him for years, taking them out for dinner and dancing. None of them were serious enough to invite on their backcountry trip, but that could change.
A few minutes later, their next campsite appeared, Warren Lake shining a bright blue, the surrounding cliffs reflected in the still waters. Dad, Yvonne and Peter were already stringing the highline for the pack string. Since it was their third night out, setting up camp was easy and fast. In less than an hour, the kids ran into in the lake to swim. Tom was settling into his chair when Erin and Ryan hiked in, dropping their daypacks and accepting a seat and a beer.
Ryan clinked cans with them. “I love backpacking, but this pack string thing has some real advantages!”
Erin tapped hers to Wiz’s sparkling water. “Here, here. Strolling with light packs in the depths of a beautiful wilderness is a wonderful experience.”
Wiz smirked. “You know, you could be riding.”
Ryan shook his head violently. “No way. I’m not getting on a horse with just one good arm!”
“People do, you know. All the time.” Dad winked. “They don’t even bother with the fancy grasper.” They’d had the same discussion every afternoon.
“Yeah, yeah. I like my own two feet, thanks.”
Erin sipped. “What are we cooking tonight, Pete?”
“Chicken and sausage gumbo, with corncakes and pineapple upside down cake for dessert.” Dad rubbed his hands together.
Tom’s stomach rumbled, and Ryan groaned.
“Good thing I’m walking, or I’d never burn off all the calories.” Erin lifted her beer.
Tom laughed at her statement. “Riding burns plenty.”
“Maybe so. I’m happy walking. But this is an argument we’ll never agree on. So, can somebody tell me where our stuff is, and we’ll go set up our tent?”
“Already done. I’ll show you.” Wiz rose.
“Oh, good. And thanks. You really don’t have to do that.” Erin followed her away from the lake.
“I know. But the faster we’re set up, the quicker we can jump in the lake.”
Tom finished his beer, intending to join Wiz; he never missed an opportunity to see her in a swimsuit. “Dad, you coming in today?”
He shook his head. “Nah, might wade a little, but you two go ahead. You got more energy than I do.”
Tom and Ryan both snorted. Dad could ride or walk them into the ground. Tom led Ryan to their tent sites, passing Wiz and Erin, already changed and on their way back. He put on board shorts and sandals, grabbed a towel and headed back to the lake. Wiz’s brutal workouts were good for both of them; he felt younger than his years, even after riding all day.
As he neared the lake, screeches rang loud. Rather than wading into the massive water fight, he plopped into his chair.
Dad handed him a water bottle. “Not gonna jump in?”
“No way. I’ll go in when they’ve got it out of their system. More fun to watch from here.” They exchanged smiles, and watched until the furor died down. Tom waded out and as he expected, everyone threw water at him. But it didn’t last long, because the kids got chilled, and Erin and Ryan had to cook.
Tom dove and swam, washing all the trail dust off, popping up next to Wiz. “Going back to shore?”
She smiled. “Sorry. Getting cold.”
They swam together. When he touched the bottom, he snagged her around the waist, pulling her close, and kissed her. “I missed you. On a horse, you’re too far away.”
