Osprey Gold

A son returns home to save the family resort by growing an epic weed crop on the mountain.

OSPREY GOLD Thomas Lion

~1~

Dusk settled over Osprey Mountain, cloaking the gravel switchbacks in shadow. Jesse Parker steadied his rifle as a plume of dust rose from the canyon below, heralding an approaching Jeep, its engine straining against the steep grade.

The timing could not be worse. In a few hours, Maximous Stepanov's security crew would sabotage the Lyon family's vineyard. The plan was simple: wreck the crop, rattle the family, and gain control of the mountain. Jesse's job was to keep watch from the old fire tower and intercept any unexpected trespassers.

With a heavy sigh, Jesse contacted the compound.

Zara's breathy voice, overlaid by the ethereal resonance of singing bowls, answered, "I thought you had left for the night. Missing me already?"

Jesse, his rifle scope tracking the Jeep's progress, retorted, "Are you answering the boss's calls?"

"Only yours," she said, lingering on the pause. "They're meditating. Want me to interrupt their spiritual pursuits?"

The Jeep, emerging from the riverside canyon's concealing foliage, cast its beams across the darkness. Jesse refined his aim. "Intruders detected on the road. Deer hunters, most likely."

"Grown men playing soldier," Zara scoffed. "I expected more from you."

"If I don't play soldier, they might ban me from the Sanctuary."

"We wouldn't want that," she snapped.

The Jeep veered toward the Lyon vineyard, bypassing the compound gates.

"False alarm," Jesse muttered. "No need to piss off the old man yet. I'll stay up here a little longer."

"I could bring you coffee," Zara offered, her voice a seductive whisper. "Warm you up."

"You wild gypsy rebel. Want your family to catch us hanging out together?"

"Perhaps," she replied mischievously.

"Duty calls," Jesse replied, lowering the rifle but keeping his eyes on the vineyard. "I'll keep you informed."

******

Jesse James Parker scanned the valley below, lost in thought. Three years ago, he'd been discharged from the army with nothing but a duffel bag and a chip on his shoulder. A chance encounter with Jarrod "Bo" Boyd and his crew had pulled him into their orbit. A disastrous misadventure in DC sent them all fleeing west to Arizona, where they'd crossed paths with the Stepanovs.

Maximous and Clementina were hunting for land to build their sanctuary retreat. Jesse mentioned his family's property in central Washington. The Parkers were eager to sell. The Stepanovs were flush with cash. Parkers' Osprey Mountain changed ownership.

At first, it felt like a gift. A veteran's retreat. An off-grid utopia. But the promises thinned as Maximous Stepanov's doomsday bunker grew deeper, and Clementina's smile faded. Then came the quartz vein--gold embedded in the mountain's bones. That discovery rewired Maximous. The mine consumed him. The compound darkened.

Jesse had seen it coming. He saw it now in Clementina's eyes, in the way she watched her daughter wilt. Zara, who had recently arrived from Romania, was not built for isolation.

"Ah...sweet Zara," Jesse muttered.

Screeching brakes snapped him back. The Jeep had pulled up near the vineyard gate. He adjusted the rifle scope, green eyes narrowing. Focus on the mission.

Minutes later he heard some animal clawing on the dilapidated lookout tower stairway. Instinctively, he aimed his AR 15 at the door.

After scraping blood red fingernails on the worn wooden railing, Zara removed her hiking boots hoping to sneak up on him.

The familiar aroma of her patchouli perfume preceded her. He should have stopped it then and there. Instead, he acted surprised when she kicked the door open. Jesse's rifle fell to the floor with a thud.

Zara lunged toward him like a hungry lioness.

******

Thomas Lyon parked the rental Jeep at the edge of the rugged ravine, opened the windows, and sighed. "Home sweet home."

He smiled at his passenger, whose olive skin had paled, then gently pried her fingernails from his thigh. The scent of mountain earth and musky animals revived cherished memories. "This is tranquility."

"This is the Wop-wops!" Kathryn blurted, her rich New Zealand accent cutting through the quiet.

"That's a new term from you," Thomas said with a puzzled look.

"You might call them the boonies or the sticks?"

"I told you it was remote," Thomas said softly, stepping out of the Jeep to open her door. "Come on, my lady," he requested with an extended hand and a bow. "The magical mystery tour begins now."

"That was one hell of a drive," she said as she stood upright for the first time since lunch. "My foot is asleep and..."

"Hush," he interrupted gently. "Look."

Her big brown eyes twinkled as she took in the sunset-lit mountains to the west, where they had driven from Seattle for hours.

"Listen," he urged, walking her to the shoulder of the road. They gazed down into the great ravine and drank in the river's soothing song for a moment.

"Lovely." Kathryn exhaled hands on hips. "Now show me this Shangri-La vineyard homesite of yours, my blue eyed American."

They walked to the vineyard entrance, surprised to find the gate half open. Strolling hand in hand, they stopped by a picnic table at the end of a long row of grapevines. The intoxicating aroma of fermenting grapes welcomed them.

"Let's set up camp here," she suggested.

He nodded. "It will be dark soon. I'll get the tent."

"I'll fetch the chili bin," she added.

"Please call it the cooler tomorrow when you meet the family. Let's give them a little time to adjust to your Kiwi talk."

They pitched the tiny tent together.

"We speak perfect English, I'll have you know," Kathryn noted after elbowing his ribs.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I never tire of hearing your accent."

She grabbed something from her case and draped it over the tent roof.

He stared at the cloth adorned with a brown bird picking at a piece of fruit beneath the New Zealand flag. "Never saw a bird like that."

"It's a Kiwi, our flightless national bird," she explained.

Thomas nodded. "At least you've spread your wings."

"How could I resist?"

A piercing cry broke the silence as a massive bird dove toward them, banking away at the last moment.

Kathryn grabbed Thomas's arm. "What in the bloody hell was that?"

Thomas tilted his head back, letting out a series of sharp whistles that echoed across the vineyard. "Just one of our resident pterodactyls."

The graceful bird circled back toward them, repeated his call perfectly, then flew off over a long row of grapes.

"So, you are a pterodactyl whisperer."

"Osprey whisperer, to be exact, my dear."

His mind drifted back in time as he watched the friendly predator land on a vineyard row trellis post. Ospreys called this mountain home from spring until fall, then migrated south for winter. The county, the valley, the city were all named for them. He smiled, recalling the injured osprey he nursed back to health as a boy. After that experience, these rulers of the valley called out to him until he mastered their language. Welcome or warning, that's what their cries had always meant.

"Earth to Thomas!" Kathryn's voice snapped him back.

He grinned, crooning softly, "When I'm deep inside of me, don't get too concerned. I won't ask for nothing when I'm gone..."

"You are a character. Honestly." She rolled her eyes.

"No, honesty," he corrected, pulling her closer. "Hardly ever heard, but mostly what I need from you."

"How'd you end up being a walking jukebox of ancient tunes?"

"Mom and dad's vinyl collection. Got burned into my brain like all their old-style thinking." Thomas gazed up at the stars, remembering endless summer nights on this same slope. "Some things never grow old. Maybe I was born a couple of decades too late."

Her finger pressed against his lips. "You're drifting again."

"That bird just welcomed me home." He squeezed her hand. "Good omen."

They walked between rows of Malbec grapes, the fruit black and gleaming under torn green bird netting. Thomas froze, spotting fresh scat and tiny paw prints in the dirt. Something rustled in the vines ahead.

The osprey's cry cut through the silence again - sharper this time. A welcome already given gave way to a warning.

"Yo bear! Go bear!" Thomas's shout echoed across the vineyard. Two frightened black bear cubs bolted from the netting and scampered toward the fence line.

He guided Kathryn back to their picnic table by the tent, keeping their movements deliberate and calm.

"Crickey! Those were bears!"

"Welcome to the wild side of wine country, love." He pulled her close, feeling her heart racing. "Just grin and bear it."

"Bob's your uncle. Wee little bears! Do they attack people?"

"Maybe Kiwis," he kidded her. "Although I do believe you're too svelte to be much of a meal."

Kathryn shook her long dark hair. "Ha ha."

"Want the truth my svelte Kiwi Kat?"

"Yes please. Always, just as we agreed."

"Not without provocation, unless of course you get between a mom and her cubs. These gentle black bears have roamed this mountain forever."

"What do they eat?"

"Grass. Wild berries. Grapes. Anything to fatten up before winter hibernation."

"What about the grape harvest tomorrow? Seems a worry to me."

"Someone left the gate open, and a couple of curious cubs got in. No worries, babe. It would take an army of bears to eat this crop. It's just nature."

"Quite an experience indeed," she said. "Never see that living in my island nation."

"I promised you an adventure," he said walking away toward the Jeep. "I'll bring our rig into the vineyard and park by the tent. You rustle up some snacks."

"Sounds a plan," she replied.

Minutes later, while she arranged crackers, cheese and quince paste on the picnic table beside the flickering camp light, Thomas retrieved a special treat from the Jeep.

Kat held a cracker to his lips as Thomas uncorked a bottle of wine. He poured a taste into a plastic cup and handed it to her.

As she sipped with delight he gestured toward a nearby open space called Bear Meadow. "Well, what do you think of it?"

"Very sweet of you," she said pointing out the 1986 vintage on the malbec label. "My birth year."

"Not the wine." He cleared his throat. He had brought her here a day earlier than he told his parents, so she could get a feel for the land before the inevitable stress of meeting the family. "What do you think of this place."

Kathryn Ruth Robinson sat with her arms folded atop her knees scanning the meadow and beyond where the curvy bays of Lake Osprey shimmered in emerging moonlight. She exhaled, then frowned.

He filled her cup and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I'm detecting something," she said blinking her eyes. She tapped her forehead. "It's getting clearer now." She jumped up, whirled around and pointed. "Over there!"

"Where? I can't see anything." Thomas bit his lip.

She grabbed his hand.

He felt her trembling. "You're afraid. Is it the bears?" He took a deep breath.

She shook her head and sighed. "I see a log cabin rising over there in that peaceful meadow. And yes, I am afraid. I'm afraid I have found my calling. I love it here! No neighbors. No noise. No traffic. It's a dream worth reaching for. Everything you promised."

Thomas exhaled. "I don't make many promises these days but aim to keep the ones I do." He brought her here for a test some tiny dark part of him hoped she would fail. Now, to his great surprise, she loved the homesite, for which the biggest part of him was greatly relieved. Finally, after years adrift, his time, their time, the dream was at hand.

A meteor streaked across the sky. She made a wish. They drank the wine. They toasted their good fortune of having found each other. He drew her close and they twirled slowly in a magical dance that ended making love in a tiny tent beneath a million stars.

Moments later, intoxicated by her presence, he stroked her hair and sang softly. "I would not leave you in times of trouble. We never could have come this far. I'll take the good times. I'll take the bad times." He paused before singing words he doubted, he might ever sing. "I love you just the way you are."

She sighed silently thanking the stars for granting her wish.

He covered her with a blanket. "Stay close to me."

"No need to ask. Life is good my Tom," she whispered before fading away.

Under the spell of afterglow, she slept deep and fast in a place where she was safe and sure he was the one and Osprey Mountain was the great adventure missing in her mundane life.

But as he drifted in and out of consciousness, something deep inside of him knew seeing cubs without mamma bear was anything but normal in this place where nothing happened out of the natural world order without human interference.

******

Jesse broke free from Zara's grasp, cleared the fogged-up window glass in the lookout tower and zoomed in on the vineyard camp.

Zara struck an alluring pose. "Why are you so distracted?"

"It's my job."

"Is this lady you watch attractive?"

Jesse sighed. "Hard to tell from this far away. Might have to do a little recon, have a closer look. I'll let you know my opinion when my research is finished."

Zara muttered a foreign phrase and slapped Jesse's hand.

"Time for you to put on them fancy pajamas and get back home to papa, princess."

"That place is not home." She replied with a pouty face. "More like prison. And that man is not my papa."

Zara finished dressing and departed with a huff. "Give me half an hour," she said as she disappeared down the stairs, "then he will call."

Jesse focused night vision binoculars on their camp wondering what the flag on the tent meant. Time passed. The man walked out of the tent shining a flashlight toward the distant fence line.

"Stay put dude," Jesse muttered. Mind your own damn business.

The svelte, scantily clad lady stepped out into the pale moonlight and his focus switched. She had last been seen at nightfall when her nude silhouette briefly caught his eye before the tent light went out. She took the man's hand. He turned off the flashlight and they returned to the tent.

Jesse sighed. This guy looks familiar, he was thinking when his ring tone summoned him.

"Report," ordered the deep voice of the caller. "Zara tells me you checked in."

"We've got a couple of adventurous campers on the mountain. Probably here for tomorrow's harvest," Jesse announced. "They pitched a tent just inside the vineyard gate."

"Are you absolutely certain of that location?"

"Copy that, sir." Jesse paused to listen to the loud, deep huff from his boss. "I know that's not what you want to hear. Especially tonight, sir." A long silence ensued. "They haven't gone anywhere near the upper fence line. But they are in harm's way."

Coyotes yipped from afar. An owl called out to its mate from the giant ponderosa pine by the lookout tower window.

Maximous tapped huge fingers on his cell phone.

Jesse cleared his throat. "If I were you, I'd postpone it until tomorrow. I'll come up early and herd them downhill. Then you can give the order."

"If you fail to extract them, I will have Bo's men pay them an unpleasant visit."

"No need for that, sir." Jesse assumed Zara was listening so he added, "They pose no threat, but a beautiful woman should not be left in the crosshairs."

Maximous drummed his chest contemplating a reply. He covered the phone and uttered a guttural phrase in his native Belarus tongue toward Zara.

Zara tugged at Maximous' arm whispering, "Please, be nice."

"Sir? You okay with me leaving the tower now?"

"Yes, of course," Maximous acquiesced. "Have a blessed night."

Jesse Parker packed his duffel bag and made his way to his dual wheel Dodge Ram 3500 truck. As he placed his rifle in the gun rack, he noticed a fog bank moving up the mountain from the lake and smiled. He selected his favorite country song from his play list, put a lighter to his glass pipe and took a deep puff of Mango Tango, his latest therapeutic cannabis strain.

After cranking up the volume and exhaling, Jesse navigated the treacherous curves of Osprey Falls Road with practiced ease, headlights off, guided only by moonlight and muscle memory, just for the rush. And on the way down the winding road he wondered if the mystery man in the tent was the prodigal Lyon son, returning to stake his claim on the mountain kingdom Maximous aimed to control.

******