The Alaskan Catch

by Beth Carpenter

  They unloaded and set up camp. Sam was surprised at how quickly Dana had picked up the routines. Without prompting, she immediately started threading together the tent poles as he’d demonstrated the day before. She set up the rolling table and campstools while he staked the tent, and even set out the water purifier. For a girl who’d never been camping, she was remarkably efficient.

  Nothing seemed to faze her for long. He’d expected her to complain about the mosquitoes or getting wet or having to dig her own latrine, but no. Instead, she kept those big brown eyes open wide all day long, as if trying to absorb everything around her.

  “Sam.” She held perfectly still and kept her voice to a whisper. “What’s that?”

  He followed her eyes to the far bank. Something moved, but the dappling of the shadows disguised the shape until the animal stopped and turned to look in their direction, and he could make out the disproportionately large tufted ears over a flat cat’s face. “A lynx,” he whispered back.

  The furry cat watched them for several seconds before fading into the woods and disappearing. Dana gazed after it. “It was beautiful.”

  Sam nodded. “We’re lucky. People don’t see wild lynx often. They’re mostly nocturnal.” He looked at his watch. “Of course, it is almost nine. No wonder I’m so hungry. What do you think—sweet-and-sour pork or spaghetti?”

  Dana looked up at the silvery moon rising in the east even while the sun still shone in the northwest. “A full moon. Tonight, we should dine on Italian. Do you have tiramisu in your magic food chest?”

  “Afraid not, but I do have freeze-dried Neapolitan ice cream.”

  She grinned. “No way.”

  “Way.” The breeze died down, and Sam immediately felt a mosquito land on his neck. How did they find him so fast? “I’ll get the water boiling, and you can light a citronella candle. We’ll dine by candlelight.”

  The freeze-dried spaghetti tasted great. Although, after rowing all day and not getting around to setting up camp until so late, cement would have tasted like gourmet food. After the spaghetti, Sam dug through the food stash until he uncovered a pair of freeze-dried ice-cream sandwiches and offered one to Dana.

  She eyed the package before she unwrapped it. “I didn’t know dried ice cream existed.”

  “I think NASA popularized it.”

  “Hmm.” She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s not exactly ice cream, but it’s not bad. I’m getting in a lot of firsts on this trip.”

  “First camping trip.”

  “Yes. And first lynx sighting. First time in an inflatable raft—any raft, actually. First time to eat trout.”

  “Really? You’ve never tasted trout before?”

  “No.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Well, technically you still haven’t. That was a Dolly Varden. Be sure and get it right if Game and Fish should ask so they don’t throw me in jail. You’ve had salmon?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “King salmon?”

  “Only the dip Ursula made.”

  “Right. Well, if we’re lucky, tomorrow we’ll catch a king and I’ll make you my famous planked salmon. You’re in for a treat.”

  “I can’t wait.” Dana carried her plate and fork to the river to prewash it before using the boiling water. She picked up the shovel and walked past the tent, toward the spruces. “Time for you to be a gentleman.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sam turned upriver. He gathered a small pile of driftwood together and started a fire. Spreading his slicker on the ground in front of a boulder for a backrest, he settled in to watch the flames. He picked up the spruce limb he’d collected, pulled his knife from the holster on his belt and whittled away the excess wood and splinters, working it into a plank. By the time Dana returned, the fire was blazing nicely.

  She held her hands in front of the flames. He set down the plank and spread his knees to make a space for her. “Come sit with me.”

  Without hesitation, she settled into the spot he’d created and leaned back into his chest, a loose strand of hair tickling his neck. He encircled her with his arms, not too tight, but enough to keep her there, pressed against him. She fit him just right, the top of her head tucked up beneath his chin.

  Neither of them spoke. There was no need. Words would only have distracted from the perfection of the moment, from the gentle breeze, the first few stars becoming visible in the dusky sky, the sound of the river flowing. They watched the orange and yellow tongues of fire dance together, listened to the crackle of the fire. Occasionally, a tiny blue blaze would erupt with a soft hiss.

  Kimmik wandered over from whatever he’d been sniffing and flopped down beside the fire. Dana shifted and Sam tightened his arms, encouraging her to cuddle closer. They sat together, staring into the flames, until the logs had reduced themselves to embers.

  He pulled the stretchy band from her ponytail, releasing the silky strands, and nuzzled the top of her head. Her hair smelled like wood smoke and lavender shampoo. If only he could bottle that scent. He would remember this one perfect night always.

  Dana turned slightly so that her head was against his shoulder and she could look up at his face. “Sam?”

  “Mmm-hmm?”

  “I’m really glad you asked me to come on this trip.”

  “So am I.”

  She gave a happy sigh. “Someday, when I’m an old lady sitting on a rocking chair in some nursing home, and people are telling stories about exciting things they’ve done, I’ll tell them about the time I rafted down a wild river in Alaska with you.”

  “I’m sure you’ll have lots of exciting stories to tell.”

  She shook her head. “No. The most exciting thing that ever happened to me before was probably winning the science fair in middle school. I’m not the kind of girl who takes chances.”

  “You took a chance coming out here with me.”

  “Maybe.” She paused. “But it didn’t feel like taking a chance. I trust you.”

  She trusted him. It was as simple, and as absolutely mind-blowingly complicated, as that. In spite of his mother’s hatred of Raynotts, of his possible claim on her father’s estate, of Chris’s misgivings, Dana trusted him. It was a lot to live up to.

  She turned those dark eyes up at him and stroked her fingers along the ragged stubble on his jaw. Maybe he should have brought a razor along. On the other hand, she didn’t seem to mind it. “Sam?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you going to kiss me?”

  He wanted to, more than he wanted oxygen at that moment. But he had to think beyond tonight. One stolen kiss wasn’t enough, would never be enough. They were on borrowed time. What he wanted from her he couldn’t have, and pretending would just make it harder in the end. Instead, he smiled at her. “Better not.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I do, I might not be able to stop at one.”

  “Hmm.” She didn’t seem surprised, just thoughtful. After a few seconds, she shifted around so she was kneeling in front of him and rested her hands on his shoulders. Illumination from the twilight sky made the graceful lines of her face look like an ivory carving. Her breath escaped through parted lips, and it took all his willpower not to taste them. But he’d experienced one of her kisses, knew the power she had over him. Another kiss would be a keeper, dragging him into a hydraulic that he didn’t have the strength to pull out of. Instead of giving in to the kiss, he backpedaled desperately, drinking her in with his eyes.

  She spent a long time simply looking into his face, almost as though she could read his thoughts. Finally, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his forehead. “Good night, Sam.”

  “Good night.” He watched her disappear into the tent and then focused again on the fire as the embers reduced themselves to ashes, working the spruce plank un
til the surface was smooth, as much by feel as by sight.

  He tried to congratulate himself for maintaining discipline, but who was he kidding? All she had to do was gaze into his eyes and he was lost. He set the plank aside, picked up a pebble and tossed it into the river, listening to the splash as it broke the surface of the water, imagining it sinking steadily to the bottom, far below the surface. Kind of like him. As much as he’d like to deny it, when it came to Dana, he was in way over his head.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE NEXT MORNING, the first thing Dana saw when she came out of the tent was Sam up to his knees in water at the edge of their island. He cast his line out into the water, pulled it in as the colorful feathers on the end drifted downstream, and then whipped it behind him in a graceful arc and cast it out again. Dana knew nothing about fishing, but she always thought it involved putting a worm on a hook and dangling it into the water. Maybe this was fly-fishing.

  He looked like he’d been there awhile. Did the man never sleep? He didn’t come into the tent for at least an hour after she crawled into her sleeping bag, and somehow he’d slipped out this morning without waking her.

  Maybe he was avoiding her. Her cheeks flushed as she thought of last night, of almost begging for his kiss. Maybe she’d been too direct, scaring him away. But no, the way he’d looked at her wasn’t the expression of a man trapped in an uncomfortable situation. He felt the attraction, too, but he hadn’t acted on it. And as she thought about it, maybe not kissing her was the kindest thing he could have done.

  Because they both knew in three more days, the floatplane would carry them back to Anchorage and it would be time for her to go home. Back to Kansas, back to her mother, back to reality. And most likely, she would never see Sam again.

  She pushed that thought away. She had the rest of her life to live with regrets. Today the sun shone, and the birds sang, and the river flowed around her. She should make the most of this while it lasted.

  Kimmik spotted her and came running up with a stick in his mouth. She threw it into the river on the other side of the island from Sam. Kimmik launched himself into the water and grabbed the stick, then paddled back to the island, gave a mighty shake and trotted up to her, holding the stick proudly in his mouth.

  “Hey, sleepyhead. Ready for breakfast?” Sam called over the sound of the river.

  “I’ll make it. Powdered eggs?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She followed the technique Sam had used to light the stove, and soon had water boiling and made coffee. Sam left the river and came to sit beside her on the ice chest. She handed him a cup of coffee and poured the prescribed amount of water into the egg pouches. “No Dollies this morning?”

  “Nope. There are some kings pooled up, though. I just have to convince one to take my fly.”

  Aha, he was fly-fishing. She smiled to herself and tried the eggs, which were flavored with cheese and bits of bacon. “These aren’t half-bad.”

  “I suspect if you had them at home, you wouldn’t think so. Everything tastes better outdoors.”

  “You’re right. Being outside seems to do something to your senses. The colors are brighter. The sounds are crisper. Maybe fresh air wakes up your taste buds.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve never been camping before.”

  “If I’d known it was this much fun, I would have. More coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” Sam held out his cup and she topped it up.

  “So, are we spending the day here, fishing?”

  “No. We need to break camp by about noon. We have one more tricky bit of white water late today, and I don’t want to leave it too late. Evening shadows make it hard to read the river.” He finished his coffee and set the cup on the ground. “So, if I’m going to make you my famous spruce-planked king salmon for dinner, I’d better get back to fishing.”

  Dana puttered around the camp, cleaning up breakfast and rolling up the sleeping bags while Sam fished. Funny, even chores seemed better outdoors. She wouldn’t want to wash her dishes in the river every day, and the baby wipes she cleaned up with this morning were a poor substitute for a real shower, but for now, the novelty made everything fun.

  “Dana.” Sam spoke in a low voice. She turned to see him pointing across the river and a little downstream. A furry brown animal scampered down the bank. Her first thought was to wonder how Kimmik had gotten across the river, but she quickly realized it was a bear cub. Another cub, lighter in color, appeared from behind a bush and pounced on the first one. They tumbled into the water, where they drew apart and scurried back to the bank, the darker cub chasing after the lighter one.

  Dana snatched the camera and zoomed in to focus on the siblings. She’d managed to snap half a dozen photos when she saw the mother bear step out of the woods. The shaggy bear raised her head, sniffed and looked in their direction. Dana continued snapping pictures. It wasn’t long before the bear jerked her head and turned downstream, loping along the riverbank, the two cubs right behind her. She looked back once more before disappearing around the bend of the river.

  Dana turned to see Sam watching her. “First grizzly?”

  “First bear, period. They were so cute.”

  “Cute and dangerous. Remember, where there’s a cub, there’s usually a mama bear with a chip on her shoulder. I was probably in her favorite fishing spot. Lucky she decided to move on instead of challenging me.”

  “What would you have done?”

  “Backed off. I don’t argue with mama grizzlies.”

  Dana packed up the stove and breakfast gear. She glanced over at Sam. He stiffened suddenly, raised the tip of his rod and started reeling in the line. The rod bent in a deep arch. She hurried over to the shoreline to watch. Soon, the fish was close enough to be visible in the water. It was a monster, almost three feet long. It kept trying to move toward the faster water in the river, but Sam maneuvered the rod to keep it swimming in the shallow area.

  “Could you grab that net?”

  Dana found the net lying on the bank beside her. Sam stepped slowly backward, leading the fish toward her.

  “Try to net it.”

  “Me?”

  “Could you?”

  Dana knelt down and leaned over the water to scoop the net over the fish. It thrashed violently, almost pulling the net from her hands, but she managed to hold on until Sam stepped closer and took the net from her. He lifted the fish from the water, still flapping wildly in the net.

  “It’s huge.” The long silvery fish had dark speckles over its body and a blush of pink along its sides. The undershot jaw opened and closed as the fish grew quieter.

  Sam inspected the fish. “Probably twenty-five pounds.”

  “In the water, it seemed as big as me.”

  “They’re strong. You did a good job netting him.”

  Sam cleaned and filleted the salmon, packed the pieces into gallon-sized plastic bags and put them in the ice chest while Dana took down the tent. After a snack lunch of jerky and trail mix, they loaded up the raft and pulled away from the island, one king salmon richer.

  * * *

  THEY WERE A little late breaking camp, and it was early evening before they reached the braided section of river Sam was looking for. He folded the oars into the boat and rested for a few minutes. After wrestling that king to the shore this morning and oaring all afternoon, his muscles ached. They still had one more set of rapids to get through. He was tempted to set up camp here and take the rapids in the morning, but he remembered the river well enough to know there weren’t any good camping spots on this side of the canyon. What looked like a grassy meadow was actually a marsh, and if they camped there, they would have to slog the gear all the way across it to the forest edge and sleep on knobby tree roots and rocks. He knew because he’d done it before.

 
There were some tricky narrows in the upcoming section. He considered pulling over and hiking up to the bluffs to scout the rapids ahead, but even with the midnight sun, he didn’t want to leave the rapids too late in the day. The shadows of the canyon would make reading the water that much harder. Besides, he’d floated this river a dozen times, with high and low water. He knew the holes, knew the dangerous areas. He could do this.

  Sunlight warmed the meadow, contrasting with the shadows of the forest beyond and a velvety green mountain rising behind it. The snow-capped peaks of Denali towered over the shoulder of the lower mountain. Dana pulled out the camera to capture the scene.

  She continued to take pictures as Sam rowed with the current, hurrying them downstream. He got caught up watching her frequent smiles and the way her eyes sparkled when she would look at him, which is how the rapids almost sneaked up on him. The sound of rushing water alerted him.

  He oared backward, slowing their pace. “Better put that away. We’re about to come into the canyon.” He grabbed his helmet and jammed it on his head.

  “Oh, good.” Dana snapped one more of him before she put the camera into the dry bag and rolled the top closed. They came around a corner and dropped over a ledge, jarring her. She tucked the bag away and pulled on her helmet as the raft rolled off a boulder. She grabbed the rope, her eyes wide, but looked at Sam with a big grin on her face.

  Sam winked at her and transferred his attention to the rapids. His heart shifted into high gear, pumping the blood through his body, and he forgot his weariness as the raft picked up speed. He dipped an oar, making a minor adjustment to the angle of the boat before the next bend. He loved the adrenaline rush, caught up in the power of the river, maneuvering the boat through the rapids. This is when he felt most alive.

  The next part was tricky, with a line to the left to avoid a boulder, then a sharp ferry to the right or they’d land in a hole. He skimmed the boulder and pulled hard on the oars, rotating off an outcrop on the right bank and moving downriver.

  Dana stayed low in the boat, holding on to the grab line, but she studied the river and Sam’s adjustments, instinctively leaning uphill as the raft navigated the rushing waters. Her glance back at him was so believing, it made him proud.