More Osprey Gold

Chapter 2 an interesting look at the final editing process

~2~

Some strange sound roused Thomas from his sleep. Beside him, she slept soundly, a serene smile dominating her face--a comfort he'd grown to cherish. He wanted to stay with her, but the unnatural noise gnawed at him, tugging at his curiosity. He quietly crept outside, careful not to disturb her.

The vineyard stretched out before him, its dark fruit veiled in a thick shroud of fog. The mist clung to the mountain like an impenetrable wall, swallowing grape rows and rendering the fence line invisible. If a bear had torn through the wire, he'd never see it in this murky landscape.

The sound that had stirred him from sleep came again, faint but distinct, like the rumble of heavy machinery. It echoed from the direction of the access road, far beyond the dirt berm marking the vineyard's boundary. He hesitated, hair prickling at the back of his neck. Venturing into the foggy rows risked butting heads with bears. He decided to seek the sound instead, his boots crunching on the gravel as he moved up the road.

Overhead, an osprey cried out, its piercing call splitting the dawn's silence. He whistled back at the bird. "Morning, old friend," he murmured. "Thanks for the welcome." The fog was so dense he could barely see two feet ahead. Yet he pressed on, his blue eyes scanning the dusty terrain.

As he walked with measured purpose, the crisp autumn air filled his lungs, igniting bittersweet memories. This land had shaped him. It was here, amid these mountains and valleys, that he and his crew discovered adventure, fortune, and heartbreak. Their playground became a green goldmine, bringing both prosperity and pain. These recollections were a double-edged sword--ones of freedom and triumph, but also of dark times that nearly consumed him. When life became unbearable, it was the thought of this place, its wild beauty and boundless possibilities, that gave him the strength to endure.

Years passed and life took unexpected turns. His father purchased the vineyard land from Gene Parker and suddenly the familiar, yet haunting terrain now bore the Lyon name stretching from Bear Meadow to the jagged quartz outcroppings he and his crew once dubbed "Fingers of the Dead." The past...lost love. Time wasted. Time served. Past pain from sacrifice and betrayal brought back feelings best kept at bay.

Stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow, he blinked into the morning haze, chasing the sound that had pulled him from sleep. For a moment he thought he saw a glimmer off the metal roof on a log house, much like the one he dreamed of building near the vineyard. The vision lingered before dissolving back into the fog. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Not real, he told himself. Not up here. And just like that, the mist swallowed the image whole.

The gentle murmur of the river below filled his senses, grounding him. This valley would be a desolate desert without the cool blood of the river pumping life to all things. Yes indeed, things grew well in Osprey Valley. It is why he fell in love with this place, why he had to leave it, and why he had returned.

The sound came again. He drew a deep breath and disappeared into the mist to find its source. Soon he saw massive bear prints on the dusty shoulder of the road. Nearby, shallow depressions in the earth suggested large animals had rested--or perhaps fallen--there. Poachers? But there were no blood trails.

A sudden, metallic clanging pierced the air, like chains rattling rhythmically. His attention shifted to the gouged tracks left by an excavator, evidence of recent activity. The tracks led up the mountain and disappeared into the haze, but just ahead, a thick cable stretched across the road, taut and foreboding.

Cautiously, Thomas approached the cable. The fog retreated just enough to reveal a glint of sunlight reflecting off a solar panel. A trail camera loomed from the trunk of an ancient tree, its red lens blinking. At his feet, an enormous dart lay half-buried in the dirt. Its sleek metal gleamed faintly, catching his eye.

As he bent down to pick it up, a sharp series of clicks from the camera broke the silence, followed by a deafening crash. A colossal boulder came hurtling down the slope, trees splintering like matchsticks in its path. Thomas sidestepped, stumbling to the ground, rolling to safety as the rock thundered into the river far below. Heart pounding, he staggered to his feet. His mind raced. Wildlife on the move?

Cutting through the chaos, came the blare of a horn from the vineyard. Above him, the osprey screeched out an urgent warning. Without hesitation, Thomas turned on his heel and sprinted back down the road, the fog closing in behind him like a shroud.

"Damn it," he muttered. "The Kiwi's in danger."

******

Beneath the Sanctuary's unfinished log lodge, Maximous Stepanov was engrossed in his work. The dim light of the underground bunker glinted off the quartz samples spread before him; each one freshly mined from the latest tunnel carved beneath the neighbor's vineyard. His fingers traced the veins of specimen-grade gold embedded in a massive rock, his mind already calculating its worth. But his focus was fractured, waiting for Jesse to clear the campers from the vineyard.

A sharp chime from his phone shattered the silence. The security camera had detected an intruder. Max's jaw tightened as he bolted from the bunker's central command area, his boots echoing against the cold concrete. He climbed the ladder to the upper level, his movements swift and deliberate, and pushed open the trap door that led into their bedroom.

Clementina Stepanov stirred beneath satin sheets, her fiery red hair spilling across the pillow. She yawned languidly as her husband stormed into the room, his heavy steps reminiscent of a charging bear. Draped in the soft glow of morning light, she struck a playful pose beneath the canopy of their four-post bed, her emerald eyes glinting with mischief.

Max ignored her theatrics, heading straight for the dresser. He rifled through her singing bowls, scattering sacred crystals across the polished wood. "Where's the remote control, Gypsy woman?"

Clementina frowned, her playful demeanor fading. "It's always about control with you," she sighed, her voice tinged with melancholy. "Power and control. Whatever happened to love?"

"Love can wait," Max snapped, snatching the remote from beneath a pile of silk scarves. He switched on the security monitor, his eyes narrowing as the screen flickered to life. "We have a situation."

Clementina leaned back against the headboard, her thoughts drifting. Their life had become one endless situation after another. Once, she had reveled in the chaos, aiding Max in the perfect heist that had funded their lavish escape to America's untamed West. His bad-boy charm had ignited a fire in her, a lust that burned brighter than love. But now, that fire had dimmed. Max's obsession with gold had consumed him, leaving little room for anything else. He was no longer the thrilling outlaw she had fallen for.

"Please don't tell me your pets have escaped and mauled those poor campers," she said, her voice heavy with resignation. "We can't afford the scrutiny of an animal attack investigation."

Max didn't respond. His attention was fixed on the monitor, where black-and-white images of a man filled the screen. The intruder moved cautiously, his hand reaching for something on the ground. Suddenly, the man recoiled, jumping back as a blurred object landed near him and bounced out of sight. He grabbed his phone and called his team's leader. "We have a problem, Bo."

Jarrod "Bo" Boyd spat a wad of black snuff onto the dusty ground. "Copy that. Where the hell is your boy, Jesse?"

"He'll be there soon. Can your men handle this intruder?"

Bo motioned for his crew to pause their work, the clatter from moving animal cages ceasing. "We don't mind doing your covert dirty work, but we're not keen on hurting trespassers face to face," he said, packing another pinch of snuff beneath his stained tongue.

Max bit down on his finger with his solid gold teeth hard enough to leave an indentation. "The trail cam shows the guy backing off, like he saw a ghost."

Bo chuckled, putting his phone on speaker so his men could hear. "Yeah, something like that. Let's just say we sent a message. Message received. End of story."

Max's phone buzzed with a text notification. He glanced at the screen to see a message from Jesse: 'On my way up. ETA 10 min.'

"Jesse's on his way," Max announced.

"About damn time. These animals are getting restless."

Max's voice hardened. "Keep them under control a little longer. Is that a problem?"

Bo smirked, his tone turning lewd. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about that stepdaughter of yours, boss." His men erupted in laughter, their crude humor carrying over the line. "We got this."

Clementina, now standing in her dressing gown, called out from the bedroom door. "Zara! Zara, answer me!"

Bo covered the phone, addressing his crew with a sly grin. "Like I said. Right?"

Max ended the call abruptly, his patience wearing thin. "Just be ready when I give the command," he growled. "And you are not me."

Clementina turned to her husband, her green eyes blazing with fury. "Where is my daughter?"

"She mentioned grooming the horses."

"Go find her," Clementina hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "And control your militia if you still can."

******

IN A MAGICAL pleasant place somewhere between dreams and reality, the Kiwi had been pondering her whirlwind romance with the enigmatic American.

Kathryn Ruth Roberts, thirty-six and a fearless seeker of adventure, had recently signed on for another three-month travel nurse contract, sold her little red sports car, relinquished the lease on her Auckland flat, and packed her belongings into storage, all in pursuit of a life with him on Oahu's North Shore.

At first Thomas had called it "playing house." Her father, a conservative New Zealand constable, had deemed her decision risky. Her sister, on the other hand, had outright called her crazy. Maria, a forty-year-old single mother with two divorces behind her, had little patience for her younger sister's romantic idealism. "Stick with the nice, wealthy doctor," Maria had said, dishing out unsolicited advice. "Mum and Dad adore Dr. Hawk."

But Kathryn didn't want to settle for "nice" or "wealthy." She craved something deeper, a wild and untamed soul mate. Dr. Hawk had been a safe, predictable fling, a security blanket her family adored but she couldn't bring herself to cling to.

This unique American, on the other hand, had turned her world upside down. She'd gambled everything for him, and as time went on, she'd stopped second-guessing herself, convinced he was the one.

When Kathryn woke to find Thomas gone, she honked the Jeep's horn and followed his tracks to the access road, calling his name into the foggy stillness. Now she stood by the vineyard gate, scratching her chin and debating whether to search further as the dense mist began to lift.

Out of the haze, a magnificent horse emerged, its powerful build and feathered hooves striking against the muted backdrop. Astride the beast was an animated woman with fiery red hair streaming behind her like a living flame. Kathryn took a cautious step back, retreating to the gate as the horse galloped closer. Steam burst from the animal's nostrils as it came to a halt just a few feet away.

Kathryn honked the Jeep's horn again, but before she could secure the gate, horse and rider were beside her. The Kiwi's gaze wandered to the distinct saddle blanket, its intricate design unlike anything she'd ever seen.

"How may I help you?" she asked, her voice steady despite her unease.

The rider pointed to the flag on the tent. "Are you British?" she asked in a lilting accent.

Kathryn shook her head, her lips forming a polite smile.

"A beautiful woman such as you should not be up here alone," Zara said.

"I'm not alone," Kathryn replied, stroking the horse's velvety muzzle. "Came here with my mate. He's not been back home in yonks."

The rider tilted her head. "What is yonks?"

Kathryn gestured to the horse, eager to change the subject. "That's a beautiful animal. Does she have a name?"

"She is Zelda, my Gypsy Vanner mare. And I am Zara," she revealed before skillfully dismounting.

"I am Kathryn, a Kiwi gal. That's a New Zealand flag, and 'yonks' means a long time. You may call me Kat," she said extending a hand. "I've never seen a saddle blanket like that before."

Zara smiled warmly as she shook Kathryn's hand. "It is a symbol of my mother's Gypsy Roma heritage. Blue for the sky, green for the earth."

"And the red wheel?"

"It's the Shakra Wheel," Zara explained. "A symbol of constant movement and progress." She gestured to the vineyard and beyond to the quartz-studded outcroppings. "Are you here to stake a claim, Kiwi gal?"

"A claim?" Kathryn echoed, her brow furrowing.

The sound of thundering hooves broke the quiet, drawing both women's attention. A towering man on horseback burst through the thinning mist. His camouflage gear, knife sheath, and holstered gun gave him an intimidating air as he reined in his stallion near the gate. Kathryn's breath caught as she spotted Thomas approaching from the distance.

"You surprised us, showing up here last night," the man said, his tone curt. "We don't like surprises on Osprey Mountain."

Kathryn stepped forward, hoping to divert his attention. "Sorry. We did not mean to surprise you. Do you live here in the valley?"

"No," the man snapped. "We live on the mountain. We own all of it but this vineyard."

Thomas slowed his pace, taking in the man's imposing stature and sharp gaze. *Kathryn watched as Thomas slowed his approach and glared at the stranger. "We're here for the Lyon family's first grape harvest," she declared, her voice steady as she attempted to dissipate the rising tension. 11/7

"It's good you seek no claim," Zara said. "But please be wary of the wild things Kiwi woman."

Maximus Stepanov shot his stepdaughter a piercing glare, the weight of his disapproval evident in the storm brewing behind his dark eyes.

"Claim? Like my lady said, we're here for the harvest," Thomas announced, extending his hand in a gesture of goodwill. "My dad already staked a claim when he bought this parcel on contract from the Parkers. In fact," his tone hardened ever so slightly, "I think you're trespassing on Lyon land."

Max huffed, a dark chuckle rumbling in his throat. He reached out slowly, clamping down on Thomas's hand as recognition dawned. This wasn't just a chance encounter; this was Kenneth Lyon's prodigal son; the one Gene Parker had warned him about. Something dangerous flickered in Max's eyes as he increased the pressure, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. The tension crackled like a live wire as the two men locked eyes, each silently assessing the other.

"Nice to meet you neighbor," Thomas said.

Gene Parker's warning echoed in Max's mind: The family's black sheep might return someday. Max studied the man before him--lean but strong, defiant but cautious. "Ken Lyon is a good neighbor. He respects us," he said, his voice laced with condescension.

"Dad is a born diplomat," Thomas replied through gritted teeth. "I, on the other hand, certainly respect your handshake, Mr....?"

"Maximous. You may call me Max," the man said with a thin smile. "We own the land from your property line's dirt berm to the mountaintop."

"That's news to me," Thomas shot back, a sarcastic edge sharpening his words. "I'm Thomas, son of Kenneth and Georgette, keeper of this Kiwi and plant surgeon extraordinaire. What do you do up there, Max, if I might ask? Stare at the sage all day?"

Max's smile didn't falter. "We are building a sanctuary to host healing retreats for wounded war veterans. We'll rejuvenate their spirits in the mountain's magic."

"I've never met a philanthropist I didn't like," Thomas sneered, attempting to pull away from Max's iron grip. "Love to stay and chat, Max. But dear old Dad is expecting me down at the lake resort soon. If I could just have my hand back in one piece, the lady and I will be on our way."

Max ground his gold teeth, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he finally released Thomas's hand. "To a successful harvest, then, my new friend. Enjoy your visit, but do not stray too far up the road where your property ends, and the sanctuary begins. Our people value their privacy."

"Excuse me, but the road provides access to all owners to the top of Osprey Mountain and hiking trails beyond on government land," Thomas countered, standing his ground. "Perpetual ingress and egress--it's the law."

"Not anymore," Max declared, his voice cold and final. "Up here, we make the laws." He gave Zara the signal to mount up. "Come along now my sweet princess. Your mother is worried about you."

As the two riders sped away, disappearing from the camper's sight into the hazy fog, Maximous grabbed Zara's arm. "You talk too much, Gypsy child. Just like your mother." He hissed.

"Let go, you're hurting me!" Zara shouted, struggling against his iron grip.

"You will learn to obey me," Max growled leading her horse back to the sanctuary by its reins.

When the riders had vanished into the mist, Thomas and Kat locked hands while silently scanning the foggy mountainside.

"Did you see those choppers?" (return to their playful chemistry)

Kat nodded thoughtfully. "Bloke's a wee bit like that Jaws character in the Bond movie. And he's got that Steven Seagal ponytail look."

"An upscale Jaws with custom dental work," Thomas quipped.

"Bob's your uncle. Brilliant." Kat smirked before pointing to the cooler. "Can you fetch me a juice from the chili bin, love?"

Thomas gave a theatrical curtsy before handing her the drink. "Why certainly, my proper-speaking princess. And now, back to our regularly scheduled mountain serenity." Thomas took a deep breath to steady himself. "Sorry about that. Neighbors. Holy shit."

Kat offered him a gentle kiss on the cheek and wrapped him in a reassuring hug.

"Let's collect our things before we head down to the lake," he suggested. But as morning sun burned off lingering fog, a distant bass sound echoed through the valley below. They turned to see dust billowing behind a speeding pickup truck, country music blasting from its cab.

"That song sounds hauntingly familiar," Thomas said as the truck drew closer. "No, it can't be," he muttered, staring at the driver. When the driver stared back and offered a salute, Thomas pulled away from her. "Stay here!" He ordered, running toward the intruder.

Kat bit her lip. "Gypsies, Jaws, Guns...now what?"

The big tan Dodge Ram 3500 came to an abrupt halt by their Jeep. Its driver jumped out and walked briskly toward them.

With clenched fists, Thomas ran faster before transitioning to a macho strut.

Kat's jaw dropped. She instinctively scoured the area looking for a weapon, settling for a bamboo stake.

The two men met with fist bumps, then danced about like boxers. Thomas knocked the man's cowboy hat to the ground with a quick jab. The man picked it up, dusted it off, then bowed.

"Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle! T Bone Lyon back from the grave."

"Jesse James Parker in fine form," Thomas said before embracing his old friend in a bear hug. "How did you know I was up here, JP?"

"I didn't. Just passing by on my way to work and saw the Jeep. Thought I'd investigate."

Kat walked sheepishly toward them, tapping the bamboo stake on the ground.

"Sweet Jesus!" Jesse exclaimed, followed by a cat call. He tipped his hat. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, pretty lady." Jesse winked at his friend. "Got your mojo back, I see."

"Never lost it, JP," Thomas said, grinning ear to ear. "Meet my friend, Kat." When he coaxed her to come closer, Kat waved curtly to Jesse. "Did you say you were going to work up here?" Thomas asked.

Jesse cleared his throat then nodded nervously.

"Where in the hell do you work, doing what?"

Jesse pointed up the mountain. "I'm part time doing this and that for your neighbors."

"Crikey!" Kat whispered, tugging at Thomas's arm. "He works for Jaws."

Jesse scratched his chin and frowned. "What a pleasant, surprising accent."

"We were paid an unpleasant surprise visit by those neighbors this morning." Thomas said. "Maybe you should bring me up to speed before I walk into the unknown with the family."

"Speaking of family. Your mom's been looking bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked all week. She finally fessed up this morning and told me you were coming home today. She's got a big surprise dinner planned tonight."

"Who all's invited to that?"

"Me. Maybe that hippie neighbor lady. Your brother and his family. She's calling it the Three Amigos reunion and harvest dinner."

"So much for surprises," Thomas said softly.

"Sorry to let the cat out of the bag. But you are the master of surprises. Like this beautiful lady and this little camping thing." Jesse's phone blasted out a text notification. He held a finger up, asking for silence as he read the order in all caps from Max:

GET THEM OUT OF THERE ASAP! (Copy editor's formatting?)

Jesse cleared his throat. "Gotta go, bro. It's my boss."

"Can't work wait a little longer this morning?"

Jesse shook his head. "Neither can your momma. Don't break her heart by staying up here on the cold ground. She's got welcome home signs hung and everything. Pack up your things and get going."

"Will do," Thomas said as Jesse walked back to his truck. "See you later?"

"At dinner for sure," Jesse said. "Maybe at harvest this afternoon. Depends on how my day goes."

"Friend or foe?" Kat asked, her brows arching as Jessee Parker disappeared up the dusty road.

"Long story, Babe." He leaned back against the Jeep with a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Haven't seen Jessee in ages--yonks. Friend, I hope."

After loading their things into the back of the Jeep, Thomas backed it out and closed the gate to the vineyard with a practiced hand, the metallic clang echoing in the still morning air. He took a deep breath, wondering if Jesse was still the good-hearted friend from his past after serving so many years in the military. Then he settled back into the drivers seat, powered up his phone for the first time since landing at SEATAC and propped it on the dashboard. With a flick the radio hummed to life, and with a swipe, he hit the contact labeled "MOM" putting the phone on speaker.

Kat glanced at him, her expression a mix of curiosity and caution. "What are you up to now?"

"Tommy!" Georgette's voice burst through the speaker, loud and lively. "Are you at the airport?"

"Closer than that," he replied, his voice carrying a teasing edge over the static of the radio.

"How close?" his mom asked, her tone shifting to one of nervous anticipation.

Kat crossed her arms, frowning slightly at the cryptic exchange.

"Dad's out doing last-minute chores, and I'm elbow-deep in canning tomatoes," Georgette added hurriedly. "We need some time to tidy up so your lady won't think we're the Beverly Hillbillies!"

Tommy chuckled as he shifted the Jeep into drive. "Relax, Mom. It's not like the Queen of England's coming for tea. Kat's low maintenance. Just keep doing your thing."

He pulled onto the rugged road, his grin widening as the vineyard disappeared in the rearview mirror. "We're driving in mountains --might lose reception. See you in a couple of hours."

"Love you, Tommy," his mom called out warmly.

"Love you too, Mom."

Kat slid her hand through his hair, her lips curving into an affectionate grin. "Why not just text her an actual ETA? You're a proper rascal, you know that, Tommy?"

"Only mom gets to call me Tommy," he smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know I hate texting. I'm a talker."

"A talker?" she teased. "More like a wee little pisser, winding your mum up like that."

"She expects her old Tommy, master of surprises," he said with a wink, his tone brimming with determination. "And old Tommy she'll get."

Kat laughed, shaking her head. "Well then, on with the adventure."

"Buckle up Kiwi," he replied with a roguish grin. "Met the neighbors. Parents are next."

******

An inside view of the editing process after 27 months working on this manuscript!