Tempt Me If You Can

by Janet Chapman

  “Come on, Em. We’ve got to go,” he whispered, gently shaking her awake.

  “It’s dark,” she muttered, sitting up.

  “Your eyes will adjust. Come on. The canoe’s loaded and in the stream.”

  She stared up at him in confusion.

  Ben sighed. “I’ve never known anyone to sleep as soundly as you do.”

  “Beaker would warn me if Wayne showed up,” she said, trying to rise.

  She gasped when her knee failed to support her. Ben grabbed her under the arms and lifted her to her feet, reached down for his handgun and tucked it into his belt, then tucked the parka around her.

  “My knee stiffened up.”

  “I’ll help you. It’s not far. Come on, Beaker.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready to run the river at night, Ben?” she asked, hobbling beside him.

  “I think it’s the safest way,” he said, guiding her over the beaver dam. “If we wait until morning, we’ll be sitting ducks. Poulin can’t shoot what he can’t see.”

  She looked up at him, and Ben could see a brilliant smile slashing across her face. “Why, Mr. Sinclair. I do believe you have the makings of a woodsman.”

  “Are there any surprises I should know about between here and the falls?”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s mostly flat water. The current will pick up as the stream gathers more tributaries, but we’ll still have to do a lot of paddling.”

  Ben helped Emma into the front of the canoe and put Beaker in the middle. The dog whined and tried to jump out.

  “Beaker, stay,” Ben commanded, shoving off before the dog could dump them.

  Emma picked up a paddle and pulled them into the stream, which was narrow just below the beaver dam, but quickly opened up into a winding dead water. Ben put his shoulders into each stroke, intent on getting to the falls by daybreak.

  It was still solid night when they arrived.

  Ben heard the roar of the falls at the same time he felt the canoe pick up speed. Beaker sat up. Emma pointed her paddle to the southeastern shore, and Ben guided the canoe to the bank.

  “It’s going to be a treacherous portage this time of night,” she said, scrambling awkwardly onto the shore. Beaker wasn’t any more graceful as he jumped and missed, falling back into the water with a yelp. Ben grabbed him by the skin of his neck and hauled him onto dry land. The dog immediately shook, soaking everything within ten feet.

  Emma gave a pleasant if tired laugh. “You think Beaker is wishing he was back in the city?”

  “No offense, but I wouldn’t mind being back there myself.” Ben looked at the narrowing creek, which disappeared into the blackness a hundred yards downstream.

  Damn he was tired. His arms burned so badly, he wished they would just fall off. His back ached. His eyes felt like they were lined with sand, and he had blisters on both palms.

  And they still faced eight miles of white water.

  “Can you walk, Emma?” he asked, moving closer to be heard over the roar of the falls.

  “I will. I just have to work the stiffness out.”

  “Do you want me to take a look at that knee? Maybe wrap it with something?”

  He thought she smiled, but she could be wincing. The dim moonlight made it impossible to tell.

  “Thanks, but I’d rather not know how bad it is until I can do something about it.”

  He reached out and cupped her cheek. “You’re amazing, Emma Sands,” he told her, kissing her dirty nose.

  She covered his hand with her own. “I’m very glad you’re here, Ben. I might not have made it without you.”

  He kissed her full on the lips, and she responded with passion, warmth, and a little desperation.

  “You’re sweeter than an Elmer Fudge,” she whispered, then wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “You’re freezing! Here, take the parka for a while,” she said as she worked her arms out of it.

  Ben stopped her. “Not yet. I’ll be a ball of sweat by the time I get this canoe down the falls. Keep it on,” he gently ordered, zipping it back up.

  Beaker suddenly came to stand next to them, his hackles raised and a low growl rumbling from his chest. Ben stilled, his handgun in his fist, his eyes trying to pierce the dense undergrowth as he followed Beaker’s stare.

  “Wayne,” Emma said on an indrawn breath, scrambling to her feet. “He could have found our trail and realized I was heading home. We didn’t exactly cover our tracks. He’d try to cut me off by traveling straight through the woods.” She stared up at Ben in horror. “And he’ll know I’m not alone anymore.”

  “Is there a reason we didn’t cut straight through the woods?”

  “I never would have made it with my bad knee. The terrain’s too rugged.”

  “Beaker could be growling at an animal.”

  “You going to wait around and find out?” she asked. “We have to portage now! Once we get into the white water, Wayne won’t be able to catch us on foot.”

  He handed her the rifle and pack, and tucked his handgun back in his belt. Ignoring his burning muscles, he hefted the heavy canoe out of the water and began dragging it over a ledge to the left of the falls.

  Beaker silently disappeared into the darkness.

  The sharp crack of a rifle suddenly split the night, and the tree beside Emma splintered with the impact of a bullet. Ben dove for her, throwing her to the ground and covering her head with his arms.

  “It came from the other side of the stream,” she said, turning her face toward his. “I saw the muzzle flash.”

  “He’s shooting blind. He just saw movement. He still might not know I’m here,” Ben said, easing off her. “I’m going to keep dragging the canoe down through the trees. The noise of the falls should cover the sound.” He handed her the rifle. “Try to cover me.” He grabbed her chin and looked directly into her eyes. “If you get a clear shot, can you take it?”

  Her eyes huge with worry as she tried to pierce the darkness, she nodded.

  “Good girl. Don’t try anything foolish,” he warned. “I’m counting on you to be right here when I get back. Understand?”

  “I promise not to move from this spot. Get the canoe down to the water.”

  “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  “Where’s Beaker?”

  “Hunting.” He started dragging the canoe again.

  His last look back showed Emma lying on her stomach, her rifle aimed toward the other side of the falls.

  He didn’t doubt she’d pull the trigger, but he hoped like hell it didn’t come to that. For all of her strengths, Emma was a gentle soul with a tender heart. He hated to leave her in the position of having to take another person’s life, no matter how unredeemable that life was.

  Ben was halfway down the ledge when the next rifle shot pierced the darkness and ricocheted on the rocks across the falls.

  Yup. Emma had pulled the trigger.

  Their game was up. Poulin knew she was armed, which meant their element of surprise was gone.

  Ben finally reached the bottom of the falls, only to find a frothing, turbulent pool completely surrounded by sheer ledge. If they got in the canoe here, Poulin could pick them off as easily as shooting fish in a barrel.

  Hell. It was time for another plan.

  Ben looked up and saw the first whisper of dawn lighting the sky. He left the canoe on the ledge by the pool and pulled his handgun out of his belt. He’d tried to do things her way, but now it was time to join Beaker.

  First, though, he needed to let Emma in on his plan so she didn’t accidentally shoot him. But just as he started up the trail, a deep rumbling came echoing down the mountain. The ground started to tremble, and Ben had to grab a tree for balance. Rocks poured down from the ledge as deadly missiles, some of them as large as basketballs. The tree he was holding shook as if attempting to shrug him off as the valley awakened with violent energy.

  Emma tucked herself against the trunk of a giant pine tree to ride out the earthquake.
Medicine Creek boiled with fury as huge boulders lost their footing and tumbled into the water. The ledge of the falls split with explosive booms that sounded like gunfire, reverberating through the granite beneath her in undulating waves.

  Her first thought when the ground quieted was of Ben. He was below the falls, in the path of a deadly landslide of falling rock and small trees that still fell with lethal frequency. Her second thought was that the roar of the falls had subsided to a more gentle sound, like that of a gushing faucet that had suddenly been turned off.

  Medicine Creek had been dammed up by the falling debris.

  Emma moved away from the swiftly rising water and scanned the opposite shore, able to see it clearly now that dawn blanketed the forest with dim light. Wayne was still over there someplace, waiting for her to move. She quietly started in the direction Ben had gone, sliding down the path, praying she wouldn’t find him buried beneath rubble.

  She lost her grip on a tree root and fell into his lap.

  He caught her with a grunt. “Following orders as usual?”

  “We’ve got about two minutes before the rising creek decides this is the easiest way down the valley,” she told him, grabbing his hand. “The falls were dammed by the earthquake.”

  He reversed her grip on his and began pulling her back up the path.

  “The canoe’s destroyed. And it’s too light out now to use it anyway,” he said, helping her over a steep spot.

  “Then let’s head due east, away from the stream.”

  He shook his head, still climbing. “No. If that pigeon of yours made it home yesterday, help will be arriving soon. They’ll be looking for us along Medicine Creek.”

  Emma forced Ben to stop by grabbing a tree trunk and hanging on.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Wayne will see them coming! He’ll kill Mikey if he gets the chance.”

  “He won’t get the chance,” Ben said, pulling her behind him again. “I intend to kill him first.”

  Emma followed in silence. Water was already creating a new channel around the dammed falls. She hoped the creek was overflowing on the opposite shore as well, forcing Wayne out of his hiding place.

  When they reached the overflowing stream, Ben headed toward the falls. There was enough light now to see the giant boulders and broken ledge blocking it, forming a bridge they could use. He stopped before crossing and turned to her, his face harder than the granite she was standing on.

  Michael had been right. When Ben finally shed his veneer, he was scary.

  “I need you to stay here,” he said harshly, leaving no room for discussion.

  Emma didn’t argue.

  “Cover me as I cross. Then keep an eye out for Atwood and Skyler. Fire two quick shots if you see them coming up the stream.”

  “What about Beaker?” she asked softly.

  He looked across the natural bridge. “He’s out there, watching and waiting.”

  “You’ll be careful?”

  He gently kissed her. “I love you, Emma. And I’ll be back. We have an important date in two weeks, and I intend to be there to see what you think of my wedding gift.”

  He kissed her again, then pulled out his handgun and walked away.

  Emma lifted her rifle to her shoulder and steadied it on the boulder she was leaning against, watching the opposite shore for any sign of Wayne.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The earth continued to rumble with occasional shivers, rattling small rocks and rippling the ever deepening water. Medicine Creek finally found its new route around the dam, and its newly created falls cascaded down the path Ben had used to portage the canoe. Small trees were uprooted and earth and mud gave way with devastating effects. Her retreat was cut off. She was trapped except for the route Ben had taken across the old falls.

  Emma wished she were here under different circumstances as this wonder of nature played itself out. She was witnessing no more than a gentle blip in the life of the earth, but to her it was mystical.

  Michael would be fascinated.

  She thought of her nephew, knowing he was valiantly coming to her rescue. She didn’t doubt Homer had found the lodge eventually, and that Mikey had found the message they’d sent. And she knew nothing would stop him from trying to save the two people he loved. She knew she didn’t have to worry about him barging into an ambush, as Mikey was smart enough to be cautious.

  Sometimes he seemed as mystical as the land he’d grown up in. He knew things: when the rain was coming, when the seasons were changing, and when weather was brewing. He was able to read the signs like a soothsayer, and had surprised Emma more than once with an urgency to batten down the camps and secure the plane. When no more than a rainstorm was forecast, Mikey would make her prepare for a gale, and he was rarely wrong.

  He would know Wayne was near, and would come with stealth and purpose.

  Which scared her. As much as she didn’t want Wayne’s blood on Ben’s hands, she certainly didn’t want Michael involved. He was too young and innocent to become embroiled in the mess.

  The forest behind her suddenly erupted in a flurry of breaking branches and heavy breathing. Emma swiftly turned, only to lower the rifle barrel when Pitiful came charging toward the stream. The animal’s eyes were huge saucers of brown with white rings of panic surrounding them. His nostrils were flared and his sides were heaving as he broke through the trees, his single antler pulling down branches.

  Unable to understand what was happening in his woods, the panicked bull splashed into the receding waters of Medicine Creek, letting out a bellow that sounded like a desperate child calling for help. He stood in the middle of the stream, shivering with fright and panting.

  “Pssst,” Emma hissed, trying to draw his attention. “Pitiful.”

  The young bull cocked his head in her direction, let out a loud bugle of joy when he spotted her, and came charging through the water toward the dam. Emma stepped behind her rock for protection.

  Wayne Poulin grabbed her around her throat in a hold that nearly cut off her air.

  “Drop the rifle,” he said, pulling them both out of reach of the confused moose. “Who’s here with you?”

  She didn’t answer, and he tightened his hold on her throat.

  “It’s … it’s John,” she gasped, tugging on his arm so she could breathe.

  “John Lakes? The old hermit?”

  “He found me yesterday and was helping me home.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Our canoe got damaged, so he left me his rifle and went for help.”

  “Call off that moose or I’ll shoot it,” he warned.

  Pitiful was trying to climb up the steep bank of the stream, becoming more frantic with each unsuccessful attempt.

  “I can’t control him, Wayne. He’s just a scared, dumb animal.”

  Wayne aimed his handgun at Pitiful. Emma bit his arm. He screamed and used his gun to strike her in the head, but she ducked, taking the blow in her shoulder. She elbowed him in the ribs as hard as she could, kicking him in the shin at the same time. But her right knee gave out, and they both fell to the ground.

  With a curse of outrage, Wayne secured his grip on her, hauled them both to their feet, and started dragging her over the bridge the earthquake had made.

  Bellowing, Pitiful turned in the water to follow.

  Halfway across the old falls, Emma heard a deadly snarl just before Wayne screamed in pain. His arm around her slackened as he turned to face the new threat.

  Emma broke free, but her feet got entangled in Wayne’s, and they both fell onto the edge of the boulders. She saw that Beaker had a death grip on Wayne’s arm holding the gun … just as she tumbled over the edge of the dam.

  It took Ben several precious seconds to realize he was actually seeing a battle among a man, a woman, a moose, and a dog. All of which was taking place on top of a forty-foot-high bridge of granite that was too narrow to hold more than one of them.

  He watched helplessly as Emma fe
ll. He started out onto the bridge, but stopped when he saw she’d only fallen about ten feet, landing on a ledge wide enough to hold her safely. She was dazed but alive, which freed Ben up to deal with Poulin.

  Beaker was making a mess of the man. The shepherd had been waiting for this moment, but Wayne still held his gun, and was slowly forcing it down in the dog’s direction.

  Ben raised his handgun and aimed it at Wayne, waiting for a clear shot.

  In the end, Emma’s pet moose struck the fateful blow. The panicked bull finally found a foothold and pulled himself out of the water, his head lowered for purchase, and his single lethal antler rammed into Wayne Poulin’s ribs.

  Poulin was thrown into the air with enough force to send him sailing out over the falls. He hit several outcroppings on the way down, finally landing in the pool at the bottom. Ben ran to the edge and looked down to see Poulin’s broken body floating facedown in the water.

  Then he looked over at Emma.

  Her head leaned back against the granite ledge, and her eyes were closed. She didn’t open them when she spoke. “Ben?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Get me down.”

  She still hadn’t opened her eyes. She wasn’t looking down, and she wasn’t trying to look up at him.

  “Are you afraid of heights, Emma?” he asked, understanding finally dawning when he saw her death grip on the ledge.

  “Yes!”

  Ben was incredulous. “You’re a pilot, for chrissakes. You spend most of your time in the air.”

  “I’m not wearing any wings at the moment, Sinclair. Get me down—now!”

  “I’ve got to go find my pack, Emma. There’s a rope in it.”

  “Wait!” She finally opened her eyes and tried to look up, then gasped and shut them again.

  “What?”

  “Is … is Beaker okay?”

  “He’s fine, Em. He’s standing right beside me.”

  “And Pitiful?”

  “I assume so. He ran off.”

  “I heard Wayne fall, Ben. It was a sickening sound.” Her voice shook with distress. “Is he dead?”

  “He’s dead.”