time before he found her. And when she was finally run to ground, Pamela had killed herself rather than take the chance he would, by either torture or drugs, be able to wring their location from her.
That was Sunny's legacy, a life living in shadows, and a courageous mother who had killed herself in order to protect her children. No one had asked her if this was the life she wanted; it was the life she had, so she had made the best of it she could.
Nor had it been her choice to live apart from Margreta; that had been her sister's decision. Margreta was older; she had her own demons to fight, her own battles to wage, and she had never been as adept at the survival skills taught by their mother as Sunny had been. So Sunny had lost her sister, and when the Millers died, first Hal and then Eleanor, she had been totally alone. The calls on her cell phone from Margreta were the only contact she had, and she knew Margreta was content to leave it at that.
She didn't think she had the strength to give up Chance, too. That was why she was terrified to the point of panic, because her very presence endangered his life. Her only solace was that because he was the man he was, he was very tough and capable, more able to look after himself.
She took a deep breath, trying not to anticipate trouble. If and when they got out of this canyon, then she would decide what to do.
Because she was too nervous to sit still, she checked the clothes she had washed out and found they were already dry. She gathered them off the various rocks where they had spread them, and though the little chore had taken only minutes, by the time she walked back to the overhang there was barely enough light for her to see.
Chance hadn't taken the flashlight with him, she remembered. It was a moonless night; if he didn't get back within the next few minutes, he wouldn't be able to see. The fire had been kept smoldering all day, to maximize the smoke and conserve their precious store of wood, but now she quickly added more sticks to bring up a good blaze, both for her own sake and so he would have the fire as a beacon. The flickering firelight penetrated the darkness of the overhang, sending patterns dancing against the rock wall. She searched through their belongings until she found the flashlight, to have it at hand in case she had to search for him.
Total blackness came suddenly, as if Mother Nature had dropped her petticoats over the land. Sunny stepped to the front of the overhang. 'Chance!' she called, then paused to listen.
The night wasn't silent. There were rustlings, the whispers of the night things as they crept about their business. A faint breeze stirred the scrub brush, sounding like dry bones rattling together. She listened carefully, but didn't hear an answering call.
'Chance!' She tried again, louder this time. Nothing. 'Damn it,' she muttered, and flashlight in hand set off for the deep end of the canyon where their life-giving water trickled out of a crack in the rock.
She walked carefully, checking where she put her feet. A second encounter with a snake was more than she could handle in one day. As she walked she periodically called his name, growing more irritated by the moment. Why didn't he answer her? Surely he could hear her by now; sound carried in the thin, dry air.
A hard arm caught her around the waist and swung her up against an equally hard body. She shrieked in alarm, the sound cut off by a warm, forceful mouth. Her head tilted back under the pressure, and she grabbed his shoulders for support. He took his time, teasing her with his tongue, kissing her until the tension left her body and she was moving fluidly against him.
When he lifted his head his breathing was a little ragged. Sunny felt obliged to complain about his treatment of her. 'You scared me,' she accused, though her voice sounded more sultry than sulky.
'You got what you deserved. I told you to sit tight.' He kissed her again, as if he couldn't help himself.
'Is this part of the punishment?' she murmured when he came up for air.
'Yeah,' he said, and she felt him smile against her temple.
'Do it some more.'
He obliged, and she felt the magic fever begin burning again deep inside her. She ached all over from his previous lovemaking; she shouldn't feel even a glimmer of desire so soon, and yet she did. She wanted to feel all the power of his superbly conditioned body, take him inside her and hold him close, feel him shake as the pleasure overwhelmed him just as it did her.
Finally he tore his mouth from hers, but she could feel his heart pounding against her, feel the hard ridge in his jeans. 'Have mercy,' he muttered. 'I won't have a chance to starve to death. I'm going to die of exhaustion.'
Starving reminded her of the traps, because she was very hungry. 'Did you catch a rabbit?' she asked, her tone full of hope.
'No rabbit, just a scrawny bird.' He held up his free hand, and she saw that he held the plucked carcass of a bird that was quite a bit smaller than the average chicken.
'That isn't the Roadrunner, is it?'
'What's this thing you have with imaginary animals? No, it isn't a roadrunner. Try to be a little more grateful.'
'Then what is it?'
'Bird,' he said succinctly. 'After I spit it and turn it over the flames for a while, it'll be roasted bird. That's all that matters.'
Her stomach growled. 'Well, okay. As long as it isn't the Roadrunner. He's my favorite cartoon character. After Bullwinkle.'
He began laughing. 'When did you see those old cartoons? I didn't think they were on anywhere now.'
'They're all on disk,' she said. 'I rented them from my local video store.'
He took her arm, and they began walking back to camp, chatting and laughing about their favorite cartoons. They both agreed that the slick animated productions now couldn't match the older cartoons for sheer comedy, no matter how realistic the modern ones were. Sunny played the flashlight beam across their path as they walked, watching for snakes.
'By the way, why were you calling me?' Chance asked suddenly.
'It's dark, in case you didn't notice. You didn't carry the flashlight with you.'
He made a soft, incredulous sound. 'You were coming to
me?'
She felt a little embarrassed. Of course, a former ranger could find his way back to camp in the dark. 'I wasn't thinking,' she admitted.
'You were thinking too much,' he corrected, and hugged her to his side.
They reached their little camp. The fire she had built up was still sending little tongues of flame licking around the remnants of the sticks. Chance laid the bird on a rock, swiftly fashioned a rough spit from the sticks, and sharpened the end of another stick with his pocket knife. He skewered the bird with that stick, and set it in the notches of the spit, then added some small sticks to the fire. Soon the bird was dripping sizzling juice into the flames, which leaped higher in response. The delicious smell of cooking meat made her mouth water.
She shoved a flat rock closer to the fire and sat down, watching him turn the bird. She was close enough to feel the heat on her arms; as chilly as the night was already, it was difficult to remember that just a few short hours ago the heat had been scorching. She had camped out only once before, but the circumstances had been
