he said.
She reeled her line in and cast a glance in his direction. “You don’t like me much.”
“Not true. You’re a great cook, and your coffee is excellent.”
“But you think I talk too much,” she said, bending to lift the stringer of cleaned trout out of the cold water. She gave him a critical up and down. “I see you’re wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday. What am I supposed to ferry down to the trapper’s cabin?”
“Three stinky socks. I draw the line at backpacking in the nude, especially when it’s buggy.”
“You didn’t bring a change of clothes?”
“I brought a set of long johns, spare socks and underwear.”
“Three’s an odd number of socks.”
“I have an odd number of feet,” he said.
She flushed and dropped her gaze. “Well, I’ll fix you a good breakfast before I leave. You’ll need it.” She marched back to the campsite, and he followed at a slower pace. In jig time she had bacon frying and the trout prepped and ready to slide into the bacon fat while he studied the map she handed him. He unfolded it over his knee and tried to figure out their location.
“The black circle halfway down the Wolf is where the cabin is,” she told him. “It’s a little farther than I thought. And that other mark upriver of it is where I think we’re camped right now. I don’t know how long it will take me to reach the cabin.” She forked the cooked bacon onto a plate. “Calculating distances on a twisty river can be tricky. I’ll unload the heavy gear, most of our food into the camp and then ferry the canoe back up here. That’ll take me considerably longer. You can keep hiking downstream, so I won’t have to come back so far.” She thought about her plan for a moment and frowned. “What if we miss each other on the river?”
“Why don’t you just stay at the cabin, and I’ll meet you there.”
She thought about that suggestion briefly, then shook her head. “We should stick together. That’s the safest way. You should come with me.”
“No, thanks. I’ve seen the way you handle a canoe.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m good with a canoe. I just didn’t see that rock because I was distracted by you.”
“Not my fault I have that effect on women.”
“If you took the canoe down to the cabin, I could do the walking,” she offered, ignoring his comment. “I’ll drag your socks behind me on a piece of parachute cord and lay down a good scent trail. I could make ten miles easy before dark, camp the night and meet up with you at the cabin tomorrow. Have you ever paddled a canoe?”
“Hell, I’m part Indian, remember? I can paddle, and shoot a bow and arrow and my tomahawk skills are unmatched. It’s a genetic thing.”
Cameron took a slow breath. “There’s no need for sarcasm. I’m only trying to be helpful. I think we’d make better time if I did the walking and you did the paddling.”
“Backpacking along this river with no trail brushed out is tough work. My sister must be paying you a small fortune.”
Her expression turned to stone as she slid the three char into the frying pan. Bacon fat spattered. The edges of the trout curled. His mouth watered. He figured if there was a grizzly within ten miles, they’d have company for breakfast, but any bear would have to tackle him first to get a bite of that fish.
“I’m offering to help you,” she said. “It was a genuine offer. Do you want to find your dog, or don’t you?”
He had no response for that. They sat upwind of the small cook fire and ate the three trout and finished off the pot of coffee. He thought of Ky when he tossed the fish bones into the coals. Thought about how she’d shadowed him, slept beside him, watched over him, protected him, loved him. Depended upon him. He thought about how he’d let her down. He had to find her. Ky was out here, somewhere, and he had to find her.
Cameron was offering to help. Why did she irritate him so much? Was it because he was sure she was being paid handsomely to guarantee he made it out to the Mackenzie? Was it because he didn’t like being chaperoned? What red-blooded man wouldn’t want to keep company with a great-looking gal who could cook and clean and set up camp and drive a plane and paddle a canoe and fly-fish with such panache?
“Who taught you to fly a plane?” he asked as he ate the last of his bacon.
“My father. I use to fly everywhere with him, and he taught me to work whatever controls I could reach. I soloed as soon as my feet could reach the rudder pedals, but I’d been flying since I was six. That’s when my mother left. It’s how we get around up here, and my father couldn’t leave me alone, so he took me with him whatever job he was on.”
“What happened to your mother?”
Cameron glanced up from her plate and gave a little shrug. “She went bonkers, living way out in the bush. Some people just can’t stand the isolation. She had two miscarriages after she had me, so I never did have any siblings. One day this wealthy dude from back east came to shoot himself a trophy bear. My mother was cooking for the sporting camp then, and he stayed for ten days. He killed his bear and when he left, she went with him and that was that.”
“Do you ever hear from her?”
“Nope. I have no idea what city she’s living in, but I bet it’s a big one and I bet she doesn’t miss the wilderness.”
He studied her as she concentrated on her breakfast. She was beautiful, really, even dressed in a well-worn sage, violet and pink plaid flannel shirt, synthetic zip T-shirt, cargo pants and L.L.Bean boots. Her glossy black hair was pulled back in a short braid, and she wore no jewelry, sported no piercings or tattoos. Her skin was clear and glowed with health. He couldn’t imagine any mother turning her back and walking away from her only child, leaving her to be raised in remote hunting and fishing camps way out on the edge of nowhere. But her father had done a good job raising her. She was unpretentious, down to earth and completely at home in the wilderness.
“Cameron’s an interesting name for a girl.”
“It was my mother’s maiden name.”
“Did you go to school?” he asked.
“Sometimes. I can read and write, if that’s what you’re wondering. We’d winter in Fort Simpson, and there was a school there. My dad was pretty lax about it. Said I could learn more in the out-of-doors than I could ever learn inside four walls. The only thing he demanded of me was that I learn to read because he said knowing how to read was the most important thing. He taught me math, though, because it was essential for flying.” She finished her breakfast and licked the grease off her fingers before wiping them on the napkin. “I thought school was boring. I graduated, passed all my exams with flying colors even though I hardly ever went to class. My dad said that’s because I read so much.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”
“Twenty-four.” She smiled at his expression. “You’re not the first person who thought I wasn’t old enough to legally drink. What about yourself?”
“Thirty.
