Free More Than Magic by Donna June Cooper Page B

least confirm what his nose was telling him.
    He hefted his pack by the straps and scrambled out of the ravine, one eye on the GPS display, expecting it to disappear at any second, but hoping—
    The dog didn’t so much bark as yell at him—a deep baying noise that scared the crap out of him and made him drop the GPS and his pack. He had almost reached his gun before he recognized the slender figure in the gaudy but colorful hat catching up with the dog. The crunch his pack made as it hit the rocks below echoed in the silence. His GPS made an equally loud noise scraping back and forth against the zipper of his jacket as it swung on its tether.
    Pooka stood in front of him, tongue lolling, apparently not sure whether to go for his throat or lick him.
    “Am I glad to see you,” he said, looking up at Grace as he sank to his knees in front of the dog. “I thought I was a goner.”
     
    Lovely.
    Mr. City Man was kneeling in front of her dog in the middle of her trail to her sang bed and for just a moment he hadn’t looked at all like the convalescent who had checked in last night. In fact, she had regretted coming up here without her 12-gauge. But now he looked like he was going to throw up.
    Grace took a deep breath. A million questions tumbled through her brain and adrenaline made her hair stand on end. Was Nick merely another guest who got lost out here thinking his fabulously expensive GPS would save him? Was he following her? Why on earth would a very sick man—because he was clearly still ill whether he would admit to it or not—get up at an ungodly hour to follow her into the cold damp of these woods?
    She looked at the perspiration beading on his upper lip with a clinical eye. He was either running a fever or really scared. And she honestly couldn’t tell which without whipping out her thermometer.
    Was he after the sang? Not in his condition. He couldn’t dig it up or transport it, but he might be trying to map its location for future digging. But why? He didn’t look like the average sang poacher. Clearly he had money of his own. Top of the line GPS. Top of the line hiking boots. Top of the line windbreaker, although it looked a size too large for him. More evidence that he was, or had been, really ill.
    And she wasn’t really worried about the sang. Far better sang hunters had tried and failed to follow this trail, much less actually find the bed.
    “Are you insane ?” she asked.
    Pooka relaxed and sat back on his haunches, but Nick gave her a puzzled look.
    “Wha—”
    “No, don’t answer.” She threw up her hand. “I apologize. That was an unfair question.” She took a breath. “What are you doing out here?”
    Nick looked bewildered for a moment, then he looked down at his pack, and at his GPS, and back up at her again. “Hiking?”
    She grimaced.
    “ Trying to hike?” he offered again.
    “I suppose you forgot to look at the map I told you about. The one with the trails marked expert and beginner?”
    He appeared baffled by her question and fished inside his jacket for a much-used map. “I had one that a guy recommended with the GPS waypoints—”
    “This is private land,” she said, and felt an instant pang of guilt when he flinched.
    “It is?”
    She sighed. “Yes it is. This is my family’s land. Has been for generations. It isn’t on that map of yours. It is , however, on the map that we provide in the cabin. I don’t mind you hiking it, but I wouldn’t want you to get injured or lost on a trail that’s too difficult for you. I know you signed a waiver, but it would be bad for business.”  
    At that, Nick sat back on his heels, put his hands on his thighs and shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. I— I’m— I mean I was lost, pretty much. My GPS went out and then my compass started acting up, back there, so I headed in the direction I thought I had come and I—”
    “Got more lost.”
    “Pretty much, yeah.”
    “Well,” she said slowly, enunciating every