She arched her back to receive him with a gasping sigh, the power and purity of his need purging the memory of Crazy Emmett's brutish stare.
They tumbled off the bench, falling to the top of the empty fuel tank with a thud that echoed like a bass drum and landing in a tangle of limbs and clothes. She tried to remove her boots but he was so frantic for her that she gave up and let him tug her jeans over them. He cradled her hips in his hands and set his mouth to her, suckling greedily. She arched upward in surprise and pleasure, hurled right over the summit without warning, and without giving her a chance, to slide safely down the other side he rose up and kneed her legs farther apart and came into her.
He was forceful and demanding and wholly concerned with his own need but she came again anyway, and this time she couldn't stop the cry that ripped from her throat. She raked her fingernails down his spine and that was all it took to push him over the edge, the husky, inarticulate growling sound from deep in his throat almost taking her with him a third time.
They lay there in a jumble of denim and flannel and a hundred percent cotton, breathing hard, heat radiating off them in waves. Kate couldn't hear over the thudding of blood in her ears, and opened her eyes to see nothing but stars. She blinked. There were stars overhead, emerging one by one in the twilight sky.
The sun was setting in a blush of glory, the moon rising over the opposite horizon, almost full and softly radiant. The tips of Foraker, Hunter and Denali rose like ghosts against the northern horizon, hinting at the force and fold of geologic age beyond, whose names murmured a litany of beauty and challenge, Pioneer Ridge, Silverthrone, Mount Deception, Ragged Peak.
The air was calm and still warm from the day, and everything would have been simply perfect if it hadn't been for the blue-shrouded mound at the edge of the airstrip.
Finally Jack stirred and mumbled something. "What?" Kate said muzzily.
"What did you say?"
Jack took a deep breath, tapped into his reserve and shifted maybe an inch. Obligingly, she matched his movements, not ready to give him up.
He settled down again and sighed his content. "You know," he said lazily, "a friend of Damon Runyon's used to say that the only time a man was sane was the first ten minutes after orgasm. Empirical evidence here recently obtained may have proved his thesis to be one hundred percent correct."
Kate discovered she had just enough energy left to smile. "I feel kind of like the sack of Troy, myself." "Umm." He nuzzled into her neck.
"Have I ever told you how much I love your hair?"
"Yes, but tell me again."
"I love your hair," he replied obediently.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." Another slow, luxurious sigh. Minutes passed. "I'm going to move. Really. Eventually."
"No hurry."
"Good. Because I can't."
"Me neither."
"Not yet anyway."
"Nope."
They dozed a little, and woke to the sounds of George and Demetri moving Fedor's body into one of the planes for the night.
Footsteps came close to the tank. There was a deliberate and ostentatious clearing of throat. "Jack? Kate?"
Jack raised his head. "Yeah?"
"Dieter's still insisting on staying the full time. If it wasn't for him and his hired muscle"--without difficulty Kate identified the "hired muscle" as Eberhard--"I think the rest of them would be ready to go tonight. Might be a little insurrection brewing. Just so you know.
Could be trouble when I take off tomorrow."
"Okay."
"Demetri's cooking dinner." They could hear the smile in George's voice.
"You want it served out here?"
"Smartass," Jack mumbled, and George laughed and moved away. Jack waited until he was out of range before looking down at Kate. What she could see of his expression in the dim light looked sheepish.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know, I guess I'm kind of embarrassed. I didn't hurt you, did I? I mean I did sort of--I mean I was kind of--" "Determined?" she suggested demurely. "Forceful? Overpowering? We might even say, possessing all the finesse of a rampaging bull?"
He floundered. "Well, I--"
The bubble of laughter escaped. She pushed him over on his back and rolled on top of him. "Thank you," she said, and kissed away anything else he might have had to say.
"Oh," he said. A smile crept across his face. "Okay, then."
His hands slid beneath her shirt, and she snuggled her head into his shoulder. "What happened, Jack?" she said for the fourth time.
"No," he said. "I've got something I want to say first. Something I need to say."
There was a note in his voice she had not heard before. Her heart gave an uncomfortable thump some where high up under her breast bone. "You sound serious," she said.
"I am serious," he said. "We're both alive, and here, and the stars are out and the moon is full and there's no one around and I want you to listen to me. No cracks, no getting up and walking away. Just listen."
"All right," she said, uncertain, nervous without knowing why. He looked so serious, his eyes level and almost stern, belying the tangle of hair above, tousled from her hands.
"Light bright shining," he said.
"What?" "Shut up," he said. "That's what you are. My light bright shining.
It's from a poem by Mary Tallmountain, an Athabascan from Nulato." "A poem?" Kate said doubtfully. This was beginning to sound dangerously romantic and potentially sentimental. Kate, who prided herself on the hardness of her head, didn't do sentimental.
"No," he said quickly. "Don't say anything. Please don't. Just listen.
Listen, Kate."
He feared mockery, anticipated ridicule, dreaded her scorn. She saw all that in his face and more, and she knew a sudden shame that he would expect such a reaction from her. The realization silenced her as nothing else would have.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them to see her wary expression, his mouth twisted up in a wry smile.
"I memorized it, word for word." He waved a vague hand at their position, the top of the empty fuel tank. "This wasn't quite how I pictured saying it to you. But here goes."
He took a deep breath. His voice was clear and deep, letting the words speak for themselves.
Companion to me in every place You stretch your hand: I see Majesties of mountains Crowned with living light.
Your arm flings wide: I see Wild little islands wrapt in fog Grey luminous: hidden folds Of emerald and ermine earth.
I fly free clean through glowing Cat's eye aquamarine Filled with light air breath Swaddled in this cocoon this dense and lifeless mass Yet weightless I soaring with it shall be for you Light bright shining The poem, the words and the meaning behind them were so overwhelming and so unexpected that the breath left her body and she couldn't seem to find it again.
He saw her expression and his own relaxed. "Don't, Kate. Don't look so scared. It's just the way I feel. It's the way it is for me." His smile was crooked. "Light bright shining."
She opened her mouth and nothing came out. Again, he filled the gap.
"I'm thinking of retiring."
She gaped at him. "What?"
"I'm thinking of retiring," he repeated. "I've got over twenty in, I'm eligible, and as you know the state is trying right, left and center to cut the budget. They're offering a good buy out to unload a few of us older employees, so they can hire someone in our place at half the salary and a quarter of the benefits."
She was still staring. "What would you do instead? You're only forty-five, Jack. Not quite time to put yourself out to pasture."
He knotted his hands over his head and stretched, comfortable now with the poem out of the way. Romantic gestures did not come easily to Jack Morgan, especially when they came from the heart. "I don't know yet."
Around the sudden lump in her throat she managed to say, "Were you thinking of moving?"
"Yes."
&n
bsp; "Oh." The lump grew bigger.
His voice came as if from a great distance. "I was thinking I might try the Bush lifestyle for a while, see how I liked it year-round."
She stopped breathing. "Bush lifestyle?"
"Uh-huh." He met her eyes. "I know someone with a cabin. It's one room, might be a little cramped for the three of us, but if she was willing we could always add on."
"You mean my cabin?" Her voice scaled up in disbelief.
"Yes." Jack was watching Kate very carefully, alert to every change of expression.
She stared back at him. "I--I--I don't know what to say. What about Johnny?" Johnny was Jack's twelve year-old son, currently bunking with his best friend's family in Anchorage and greatly miffed at having to go to school instead of being allowed to come on the hunt. He had his father's dark blue eyes, which also like his father's saw too much, and an impish charm all his own. "How does he feel about this? There aren't any video arcades on my homestead, or in Niniltna, either, for that matter. The last I saw, anyway."
"We've talked about it some." Jack grinned. "After this summer, up the creek with your aunties, picking fish with Mary Balashoff and out on the Freya with Old Sam, he's looking at Bush life through rose colored glasses. And of course he's more in love with you than I am, always has been. Johnny won't be a problem."
She was mute. He gave a sudden laugh. Bristling was an easy response for her and so she went with it. "What? What's so funny?" Still laughing, he said, choking over the words, "You should see your face. You look like a deer caught in the headlights. Jesus!"
Defensive, now that she knew what she was supposed to be reacting to, she said, "Can you blame me? Jack, I've never shared living space before, not with you, not with anyone, not since I was a little girl. I haven't had a roommate since I was in college. I just--I don't--"
He waved her to silence with one hand while he tried to bring himself back under control. Knuckling an eye, he said. "Look, Kate. I've pretty much made up my mind to take that retirement package. I've given some thought to starting up as a contractor, offering training and investigative services." He gave her what he obviously thought was a reassuring smile. "That part of it has nothing to do with you."
The smile faded. "This does. You're my light bright shining, Kate. I love you. When we were apart those eighteen months, I tried like hell to get over you, between most of the clean sheets in town and a few others besides. It didn't work. I've made you a part of my life, a necessary part." He paused. She was back to staring, dumb, paralyzed, and he nearly started laughing again. It would be fatal to his cause if he did and he knew it, so he choked it back and said, "It doesn't mean I can't live without you. It doesn't mean I can't go on seeing you while not living with you." He spread his hands. "But I want more if I can get it."
He let his hands drop and regarded her steadily.
"Can I?" He raised one hand up, palm out. "Don't answer me now. Just think about it, okay?" "Okay," she said numbly, for lack of inspiration.
He leaned forward to kiss her. "Good girl."
SEVEN.
You get a bunch ofnimrods like this out in the Bush and you figure you're going to have people popping off when they shouldn't.
HE LAY BACK DOWN, TO ALL APPEARANCES DISMISSING the subject from his mind. Rough fingers traced the length of her spine. "Is that what they call a hunter's moon?" he said.
"I don't know," she said, willing to go along with the change of subject. In truth, her thoughts were so fragmented she'd have a hard time coming up with anything to say for herself, and was grateful for the lead he gave her. "It's a full moon, or almost full. What's a hunter's moon?"
"The first full moon after the harvest moon." She smiled without opening her eyes. "You sound like the encyclopedia.
What's the harvest moon?"
"I don't know, but it has something to do with the equinox." His fingers flexed, and she sighed her pleasure. "Sounds like it's tied up with the old hunting and gathering seasons. Or gathering and hunting. Or something. Urn, right there, yes. That's what Old Sam says, did you know?" She turned and crossed her hands on his chest and propped her chin on them, smiling down at Jack.
"When we're on the tender at the beginning of salmon season and we're getting ready to pick up the first load. "Time to hunt and gather, girl," he says, and we go to work."
"I always knew Old Sam harbored a dangerous partiality for the Pleistocene. I'm surprised he doesn't wear bearskin and carry a spear."
"You ever see him when he's at home?"
Jack laughed.
There was silence. The moon seemed to grow in size and beauty as it rose higher in the sky. "What happened, Jack?" He sighed, and his hand dropped away. "Pretty much like I told it to George." He sat up and began adjusting his clothes. "We found the moose, right where George said they were. You remember that little bend in the creek, before it heads up Blueberry Ridge? That stand of mountain ash that marks the turn?"
"Yes." She began buttoning her shirt. He brushed her hands away and did it for her.
"There were three big bulls, two of them looking pretty ratty and smelling to high heaven and grunting and snorting to beat the band." He gave a quiet chuckle. "Old Sam is right. There ain't a damn bit of difference between a drunk chasing girls in a bar and a bull moose in rut."
"Did you see the cows?"
He shook his head. "We heard some rustles off in the brush but we didn't see any of them. The way the bulls were behaving, they were there somewhere. Anyway, the biggest bull of the three hadn't come into rut yet, he was chowing down on the mountain ash like he'd never eaten before in his life, and I figured, as long as we were there, we might as well take the one who was going to give us the best meat.
George makes such a point of his hunters eating as much of what they shoot as he can stuff down them."
"I know, all part of the George Perry Wilderness Adventure Guides, Inc." experience." She combed her hair back with her fingers. Again he brushed them aside and began braiding her hair himself. He was more acquainted in theory than in practice with French braiding, and the process involved much combing out and starting over. Again, Kate closed her eyes and leaned into it.
"And then there was always the little matter of my freezer and your cache." She smiled without opening her eyes. "Thinking with your stomach again, Jack. It's what I've always loved most about you."
His hands checked a moment, and they were both put forcibly in mind of Jack's declaration moments before, lending weight to Kate's light-hearted words.
Jack's hands resumed braiding. "So, the guides flipped for first shot and I won, and Klemens and Gunther flipped for first shot and Gunther won. We spread out, my group on the left, Demetri's in the middle, Old Sam's on the right. The bull was eating his way around the willow, and we were waiting for him to climb up on dry ground when we heard a rifle go off. I looked around and Klemens wasn't there. Where's your rubber band?"
"Wherever you threw it, would be my guess. Here." She fished for one of the backups she carried in her pocket. It was tangled around the little drawstring bag holding the ivory otter she habitually carried as a pocket piece. He was part talisman, part amulet and part good luck charm, and she didn't feel dressed without him.
"Let me see." She handed rubber band and otter back. The bag's strings were knotted tight and Jack's big hands worked patiently to free them.
The little creature, so sturdy of form yet so delicately made, sat back on his thick ivory tail, ivory fur soaked and ruffled with water, black eyes bright with curiosity. "Why do you carry him with you, Kate? He's a piece of art. He could be damaged, banging against your knife or something."
She shrugged, and stuffed the otter back in the bag and the bag back in her pocket. "I like having him around."
Made of ivory taken from an Inupiaq-killed walrus, carved by a Yupik artist, representing an animal into whose body was reborn Aleut souls, the otter in some curious way formed a link to her ancestors, to the people who had come before. The Gr
eat Land, the Aleuts called it, alyeska, so as to distinguish the large body of the mainland from the islands of the Aleutian Chain. The otter connected her to them and to all the people who came after and who with them formed part of her ancestry, Aleut hunter and gatherer, British explorer, Russian trapper, New England whaler, miners and soldiers and sailors and airmen and farmers and fishermen from all over the globe. Somehow they were all encompassed in the tiny ivory figure of the otter, one paw raised as if to run or fight, ears cocked for any warning sounds, a study in survival and a tribute to evolution.
She could have told Jack this. He would have understood, and even if he hadn't, he could be trusted neither to laugh nor to scoff. Instead she said, "What did you do when you saw that Klemens was missing?"
Stabenow, Dana - Shugak 09 - Hunter's Moon Page 9
