by Karen Harper
Quinn rose to his full height, for once not staring at the ground. He reached for the binoculars he had attached to his backpack but had not touched so far. “You sound like a veterinarian again.”
“Vet tech, kind of like an assistant only more.” She paused for a moment, then said quietly, “He was a vet. I worked for him.”
“But didn’t marry him.” This was the man she left behind, he thought.
“But I didn’t marry him. I was going to before I wised up—before he wised me up.”
He still didn’t look at her but put the binoculars up to his eyes and pointed them toward Falls Lake.
“Did he rough you up?” he asked.
“I thought he was just...ardent before, a little controlling. He roughed me up mentally, emotionally, I guess, and I didn’t realize it. Yes, he got—got physical, over the line, I mean, and I ran. I can’t believe I’m telling you this now.”
“I just want to say again I’m not like that.” He waited a moment, then went back to the binoculars. “I have some good and some bad news. Bad, it’s going to be dark soon but for the stars, so we’ll make camp and spend the night out by the lake. The sun will be up early, and we’ll get back at a decent time.”
She gasped. “Without Spenser?”
“The good news—I think there will be three of us so we’ll have a watchdog tonight. I see a little blur of black across the end of the lake that may be—”
“Oh, Quinn!” she cried, drawing in a big breath and pressing her hands over her mouth before reaching for his binoculars. “Not some other animal or a piece of drift log? Chip said there are beaver dams farther down the lake.”
“Not inky black ones,” he said as she changed the focus to fit her eyes. “Though if your Spenser takes to chasing them before we get there, he’ll get himself in even more trouble.”
“It’s him! I think it’s him!”
“Don’t call to him when we get closer. Pretty sure he’s got a cut or thorn in his back right paw, and we don’t need him running across that shingle shore. Come on,” he said, taking the binoculars back. “Let’s save your little Scottie.”
He was really happy for her, even for himself. There had once been a little black Scottie he couldn’t save, but maybe this partly made up for it. And her obvious relief and joy helped, too.
* * *
Even Quinn blinked back tears at Alex’s reunion with the tattered-looking dog. Yet, for a moment he saw again what he had tried to forget for years: the remnants of his Scottie’s bloody body where he had evidently died trying to protect his father, who lay sprawled on the ground amid bloodstained leaves and grass. If only he hadn’t disobeyed to run off ahead to hide, if he’d...if...
“Thank you, thank you!” she said, cuddling the dirty dog in her arms, kissing his muddy, mussed head while Spenser went crazy licking at her chin and neck. “Oh, Quinn, I can’t thank you enough!”
He bit back the too-obvious—and crude—remark that “We’ll find a way,” and said instead, “I’m glad you came to me, trusted me. Listen, before it gets too dark for me to make a quick camp, bring him over to the water. We don’t want to get him chilled, so we’ll let him stay dirty for now, but, like I said, I’ll bet he’s got an injury to that paw he’s been favoring.”
He moved closer, and they both looked. A thorn and some blood.
“I’m in awe you could spot that from his tracks. That isn’t devil’s club in him, is it?”
“No, those are more like big, thick hairs.”
“If you’ll help hold him, I’ll pull it out and wash it, wrap it with something.”
“We can carry him or put him in your backpack,” he told her as together, kneeling by the clear, cold water, they washed the bloody paw. Amazingly, the little guy let her pull the embedded thorn out with no fuss but a few whines and whimpers. She was good at it, assured and adept, but then she was obviously skilled with animals, at least domesticated ones.
With Alex carrying the dog like a baby, they moved back from the lake toward the forest but did not enter it.
“Stay put,” he told her. “I’ll get some firewood and a big piece of bark from a downed tree I saw for a cover. Our sleeping bags will be those plastic garbage bags, if you want to dig those out with the water and food. See, we are dining together.”
“Water and granola bars never sounded better,” she said, so obviously happy now.
He moved away, found what he needed and came right back. She had taken out the plastic bag of hamburger for Spenser and was feeding him with her fingers. He put down the large hunk of curved cedar bark and arranged twigs and a few small logs for a crude fire.
“Amazing,” was all she said when he made sparks to catch the kindling by twirling a friction stick amid the twigs. He blew on that to feed it and soon had a fire going. They drank bottled water, and she let Spenser lap from her cupped hands. The dog almost instantly fell asleep in her arms.
Alex looked so beautiful in the flicker of the fire with the stars popping out overhead like diamonds. He drank in her closeness, relishing the fact she needed and trusted him.
“I’m grateful for Mary’s jacket,” she said. “Even in a rush, you thought of everything. It was kind of her to lend it.”
“She’s a really good person. She gets depressed at times, partly, I think, over how much trouble they’ve had with having children. And—I really understand this—she mourns the loss of her grandparents in that flash flood when the waterfall let loose. She was really attached to her grandmother.”
“I can surely understand that.” She put the exhausted dog in her backpack with only his head protruding. She and Quinn bumped the tops of their plastic bottles in a celebratory toast as they drank again, and their eyes met and held.
“Again, thank you,” she whispered as they tore into their second round of granola bars. “I will certainly pay you for your time.”
“You can pay me with some of your time—not necessarily under the stars in the Alaskan wilderness.”
She nodded. Her lips curved in a little smile. Damn, but he couldn’t believe this had happened so fast, so hard. He was thinking this was his idea of the perfect first date, but he wasn’t crazy enough to say so. Yet how to keep her from bolting again, just as the snowshoe must have done from the dog. He loved just looking at her.
* * *
Alex was amazed at how quickly Quinn had made not only a camp but a protective shelter for her and Spenser. With tree limbs, he’d propped up a large, curved piece of cedar bark so it came down behind her back and gave her a little roof overhead while he hunkered down in his garbage bag on her open side like another protective wall against the world.
But when they were getting settled, exhausted just like Spenser, she heard it begin to sprinkle.
“Darn,” he said. “Cloud coming in to hide the stars.”
“I’m amazed at how clear they are—so many of them. Suburban Chicago lights don’t allow for this fabulous view, only other city lights—and garish neon, the worst.”
“I’ve seen New York City a lot, so I can imagine,” he said, pulling his jacket hood up over his head.
“Quinn, don’t get wet. I can scoot over, and there’s room for two—or three. You got a pretty big piece of bark.”
“So I did,” he said, and she wondered if he had done that on purpose. Well, they were encased separately in plastic garbage bags from their armpits to bent legs, she told herself as he scooted over, adeptly missing the propped branches that held the whole thing up. Behind him the fire had sputtered out so all was darkness in their little shelter.
Carefully, she scooted toward the curve of bark behind her while Spenser snored lightly and slept on. And to think that he used to growl like crazy if Lyle came in the front door.
The rain pattered down but not hard. Garbage bag or not, Alex could feel Quinn’s body heat, his breath. Every e
xhausted nerve in her body leaped alive. It was as if this was all planned somehow, orchestrated by someone, but of course she knew better.
“Do you—do you sleep outside a lot?” she asked.
“Not as much as I used to. When I have an advanced class in, we do a three-day survival trek, so then I do.”
“It’s good you love the outdoors, the wilds—after everything.”
“That’s what my father would have wanted. It’s partly why I feel close to Chip, having lost his dad and sometimes blaming himself. Chip wants to fly someday, and Meg has a fit over that.”
“I could tell. You know, he even hides his airplane toys. She explained Chip’s guilt about his dad rushing home for his birthday. I understand.”
“Is your father alive?”
“He and my mother live in England right now. He’s an international broker for a US company. I miss them both. Oh, sorry, that was insensitive.”
“I appreciate your telling me the truth, not avoiding it. Don’t coddle me. I know what it’s like to feel guilty for something.”
The silence hung between them. Should she tell him about the loss of Allie? How she could not help but blame herself, even after early counseling? No, that type of in-the-womb loss sounded too far out right now. Besides, he had his own problems.
“I understand but I can’t talk about it right now—not yet,” she finally added.
“That ‘yet’ makes me think we have something to look forward to. So, you think we can build a friendship—that much at least?”
“Yes. And at the very least, I’m buying you dinner in town at your favorite place when you can get away from your latest campers.”
“The restaurant’s a little wild and crazy, but then so am I.”
She laughed. “I don’t see you that way, just rock steady. I need to get my bearings here. Learn to read the signs and follow the right trail.”
“If I can help—other than today—let me know. And we’re going to have to set out at the crack of dawn tomorrow, so my newbie students don’t think I’ve deserted them and run away like Spenser.”
The dog stirred from hearing his name but did not wake. Was this a dream she could wake from? And run away—is that what she had done instead of staying to fight at home? Run away from her old life, from a man so bad for her?
“Quinn!” she whispered. Hadn’t she just heard a scream? “What’s that sound?”
She reached out to grasp his wrist, bumping Spenser so he came awake.
It was a strange wail, a rhythmic, repetitive singing, neither male nor female but somehow both. He’d told her about the ghosts here, but she’d only half believed him and...
“I’ve heard it before,” he told her, not budging. “It will stop.”
“You don’t believe in ghosts haunting this place, do you?”
“Something or someone’s out there, but no one has ever been harmed.”
“But—but you mean, we just stay here?”
“I could get us back, but it’s a long way, especially in the dark. I’ve tried to find tracks in daylight from where the sounds seem to come from. Nothing.”
“I’m scared.”
He didn’t even ask her but picked up the backpack with Spenser in it, lifted it over to her other side, then turned her so she had her back to him and pulled her close. Now she held Spenser next to the curved bark of their wall-roof. Quinn moved closer, spooning her. It was as if she sat in his lap, but they were both on their sides.
She felt his warm breath move her hair as his free arm came up and over her, not threatening, just making her feel safe and secure in the Alaskan wilds while possible ghosts sang them a lullaby.
Crazy, so crazy. Yet she felt content, even calm.
As the chanting faded away, Spenser yawned, still asleep. Hadn’t he heard the singing? Lying in the embrace of a man she had not known a few days ago, she thought the night had never seemed more safe.
12
“Hey, you two, we’ve got to head back,” a deep voice whispered.
Alex jerked alert, panicked for a moment. Had Lyle found her? Where was she?
It all came rushing back. Spenser was in a backpack in front of her and a heavy arm was over her. Quinn. She felt him shift his weight, roll a bit away. He must have held her all night.
“It’s about five thirty,” he said through a big yawn as he pulled away. “Sun’s almost up, and we need to head back. Take Spenser behind a tree, but be aware of devil’s club or animal intruders. And keep that leash on your wandering friend.”
“Aye-aye, captain,” she said, trying to sound more awake than she felt.
The two of them went different ways, then met to finish up the bottled water and one granola bar apiece. Spenser had eaten all his meat, so he just lapped water from her hands again. The sun was not up, but the sky was light as Quinn deconstructed their little camp, scuffing the ashes and even taking their bark shelter down.
He set a good pace toward the road, claiming it would be quicker to walk it back to his property rather than retracing their steps from last night. But not far on, they came to a scattering of bushes, laden with huge, wild strawberries.
“I can’t believe it!” she cried. “I’m starving.”
“Pick and eat fast, and we’ll put some in my backpack. Fast because bears know and love spots like this. We’ll take some to Mary. She craves them lately.”
“Yesterday we passed other bushes with ripe, red berries, but they were small and round,” she said as they quickly picked the bounty.
“Those are bearberries. They’re mealy, nothing like this,” he said with his own mouth full. Their lips were red and sticky.
“I can see how someone could survive in the wilds, if they knew what they were doing,” she said, still eating the luscious berries, and that wasn’t just because she was starved. She hated to admit that she would have liked to stay here longer to grab more—and be with him.
“You won’t need to take my survival class, though,” Quinn called back over his shoulder as they headed on. “I’ll give you private lessons. There are lots of things to eat in these woods, maybe things you could use in your beauty products, too.”
“My products are not just for beauty. Many of them are medicinal, for dry skin, things like that.”
“Don’t I know? That’s perfect. You can adapt to this area instead of the warmer climates with your lavenders and long-blooming roses. Get some ingredients from the wild, some from a greenhouse if you can find a spot to have one built. I wouldn’t mind having one, too. I think we have a lot to teach each other.”
The things he was saying seemed seductive, but maybe weren’t meant that way. He appeared to be so open, so up front, compared to guys she’d known, especially Lyle. She still didn’t know this man very well, but she wanted to. She owed him a lot, and he hadn’t taken advantage of her, hadn’t pushed her. The only time he’d ordered her around was to help her to find Spenser and to keep her safe in these woods. How different that was from what she was used to.
“I see the road up ahead,” he told her as the sun slanted its golden rays through the treetops and brightened the sky even more. He finally stopped leading her and came back to take her sticky, red hand and walk with her. “And beyond that, maybe a new road for both of us,” he added.
“A long road perhaps, one that takes time and effort to get to.”
“Compared to where we’ve been, we’re back to so-called civilization,” he said, sounding almost brusque, all business now. “Let’s trade backpacks since Spenser’s heavier than a week’s supply of berries. I see where we are, and it’s at least four miles to the camp. When we get closer, my phone will work, and I’ll call someone to come get us. Ready for a trek?”
“You bet!”
* * *
Josh came to get them in his truck, an old one rusting out in spots. The open
truck bed was filled with extra tires and burlap sacks of something.
“An adventure, huh?” he greeted them as they climbed in. “You should have taken a camera and filmed it for your show,” he said with a quick, narrow-eyed glance at Alex in the rearview mirror.
Back at the camp, Quinn jogged to his cabin to get ready for a morning lecture to his students, and she lingered outside the dining hall while Spenser hit a tree trunk for his needs again. She could hear the low buzz of voices inside where breakfast was being served. Something smelled delicious, and her stomach growled. To think she’d never really cared for breakfast, back in so-called civilization as Quinn had called it.
A window was propped open, and she could hear Mary’s voice inside. He’d said not to mention to Mary that they had heard the strange voice at night not because it scared her. Rather, he’d said, it reminded her of loved ones lost. Alex could surely sympathize with that.
Then she remembered Quinn had left the backpack full of strawberries, so she’d better take them inside. He’d said Mary loved them, and she’d been so helpful.
Once again checking that Spenser was securely on his leash, she led him through the door, the backpack in her hands. She was in the area where Josh had been handing food out into the main eating area last night. He was doing that again, preoccupied so he didn’t see her enter.
No one saw her. Mary was saying to the men, “So she needs to be watched. He doesn’t need a big-city fly-by-night in his life.”
Alex froze, holding the backpack, wishing she hadn’t come in so quietly. Mary must mean Val distracting Ryker. Or were they were talking about her?
She backed up, opened the door again and called out, “Can I come in? We picked some strawberries for you on our way back.”
Sam turned to her. Mary smiled and Sam nodded, but they were blocking her view of Josh. It was awkward, and she hated that. Strange vibes, curiosity but maybe hostility, too. She held out the backpack with the berries, feeling it was a peace offering. But there was no war, was there?
